Long Composed Poems
Long Composed Poems. Below are the most popular long Composed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Composed poems by poem length and keyword.
659.
The 4th Period of the Spanish Era of Philippine History:
Reform Movement
With the coming of liberalism into the archipelago
The natives & the creoles developed the concept of “Filipino”
And after the Cavite Mutiny & the Martyrdom of Gomburza
Those who called themselves “Filipinos” resorted to Propaganda
The Propagandists were composed of educated individuals
They were from the middle class & elite intellectuals
Among them were Marcelo Del Pilar & Graciano Lopez Jaena
Jose Rizal, Mariano Ponce, Pedro Paterno & Juan Luna
They worked both individually & as a group that converges
They circulated publications & organized masonic lodges
La Solidaridad became the main publication of the Propaganda
Masonic lodges included Asociacion Hispano-Filipino & La Liga Filipina
They sought a compact, vigorous & homogeneous Filipino nation
Being granted protection against violence, injustice & discrimination
They wanted the Filipinos in Spanish Cortes to be represented
Having the Philippine archipelago into Spain as its province assimilated
This is the 4th Period of Spanish Era – Reform Movement
Unlike the revolts, this repercussion was not bloody & violent
With this, the Filipinos went against Spain by paper & pen
God portrayed the Filipinos to the world as erudite men.
-05/16/2019
*Periods on the Eras of the Philippine History
He was ever gentle with her
Always careful
Composed
Never passing the boundaries
Never asking too much
A man of his culture
And bearing
Didn’t move too fast
She was a flower
Pristine...virginal
A flower he had plucked
From her family’s garden
With their blessing
She was safe in his keeping
Though her scent drove him
Mad with its
Fragrance
Sweet
Deliriously
Captivating
Fresh and innocent
An untouched love
Waiting to mature into passion
He wanted to see her
In full bloom
And yet he waited
Willing for her to
Feel comfortable with him
To feel the need for him
To feel the passion growing inside
And so, he put her in a vase
Filled with the
Water of his love
And he just admired her
His young beautiful rose
Tonight he showed her the home
That would be theirs
Hers….
But what was this?
She looked at him
In a way he had never seen
The shyness gone
He saw longing
Her face radiant
Her lips inviting
Tainted pink
To match her cheeks
His rose
His flower
HIS
And yet
He dared not touch her
For fear of crushing her
In his rough hands
She whispered
Ever so lightly
Perhaps he dreamed it
Maybe it was the breeze
Whispering through the window
As it danced in her hair
No, there it was again…
“It is time…
I am ready.”
And the suggested
Meaning
Caught at his
Breath
Drove away every thought
And he watched
He just stood and watched
As one by one
She unfurled the petals
Of her clothing
And let them fall
Down
Fluttering to the
Floor
Layer upon layer
Of clothing
Discarded
All the while
With each peeled layer
Her eyes invited him
He couldn’t move
He couldn’t inhale
He could only stare
As his rose
Shed her clothing
Before his hungry eyes
Until there was nothing
And she stood there
With no covering
Resplendid
Her black hair
Reaching
The curve of her breasts
Cascading down her ivory skin
She held out her hand to him
"Do I please you?"
She must have seen the answer
There in his eyes
For she moved forward
Ever so slightly
“Come to me, my love…”
And he was there
In an instant
In a heartbeat
Before the lilting cadence of her last word
Danced away
She smiled
Once again a little shy
As she reached up to him
And pulled him down
To the floor
And there
Surrounded by the petals
In this perfumed bed of love
He claimed her
As his own..
His flower
His rose
Amidst the fallen petals...
He heard her sigh
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Mistakes of our past are packaged ballads
recorded on an eight track cassette
constantly rewinding itself track after track
haunting us with its infinite instrumentals
of despair,oppression, and depression
No matter how many times
we turn down our audio Pandora Box
the mixed tapes of our mistakes never cease
to record the lyrics of those ballads
composed and sung in those
bitter, powerful , rhythmic
demonic voices
of Lucifer, the front man
and his backup band of dark spirits
endlessly mocking and taunting us
of our past afflictions and transgressions
with their raging, high tempo staccato tracks
like fiery arrows and poisonous snakes
piercing through every fiber of our mortal souls
old men plan a casual shrug to war
inflatable egos
the fault lines of "manageable engagement "
whims to sip glory
adventurous folly, pomp and fame
young men pay the toll
on a route that chokes their end
hapless fate
to burn through youth's prime
to cut that sweet apple in two
wide eyed faith that softens the will to question
to follow a nation's calling
to battle "barbarians"
till fighters labor to know what for
if freedom's not a bread that's shared
realities of war
a roaming slaughter, its drifting body count decay
a misery and waste that burn the sky
above battlefields of leafless trees
soldiers' lives on the clockhands of death
we gather up their shields and weep
till the peace comes midst desolation
till in wisdom and carnage a life affirming flame
is lit
Poem composed November 15, 2021
(Set to the music of 'Phantom of the Opera')
His masked face haunts me so
in candlelight
This vision makes the glow...
A mystic sight
And I am drawn to him
In dreams, I find
So like a moth to fire is pulled by light,
My eyes are blind.
Is he the mask I wear
To what I see...
This power over me...
How can I flee?
I cannot turn from him...
A prisoner
Of Phantom of the Opera, my deep
suspicions stir.
And what's behind this mask
that haunts me so?
Is this reality...
How can I know?
It seems we two are one
I see and hear
This Phantom that, sings deep inside my mind...
But, oh my fear.
I'm filled with fantasy
Beyond control
A distant vision, yet,
Rests in my soul
Inside of me, he lives,
This mystery.
Oh, Phantom, now thru this strange maze I go...
Please, rescue me.
In this dark, endless place...
Black fantasy...
Don't leave me lying blind...
Please, sing to me.
Unfold your mystery
Inside this space
Oh, Phantom of the Opera, free me...
and show your face.
My words are set to the music of 'Phantom of the Opera'
theme song and I composed these lyrics for Christine to
sing as a sequel to the duet she and the Phantom sang.
PERFORMANCE
erased from history
deeply respected
& composed
proficient
yet
was fated to
be
forgotten
entirely
to be trusted
striving
to thwart
the successful
tested
when with
elegant
irony
talent seemed
to deteriorate
opening up
an
intriguing
possibility
dependent
profoundly
on
the sensory
ths the
divergent
resonates
improves
&conforms
the experimental to
pioneer
the improbable
evoking a
pastiche
depiction
of the passive
shape
&
challenging
the
successful
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
The sea gathered her voice
on the crest of the waves
as dark clouds were herded
by the wind as he raved
in a symphony orchestrated
through elements of sound
composed by the air
from his drafty compound.
By the drum of the surf
on the beat of the waves
a crescendo that climbed
with the sea as she raged
while the wind as the maestro
pulled pockets of sound
from the whistles and moans
as he swept ‘cross the ground.
Soprano! cried the killdeer
Tenor! screeched the gulls
as a baritone foghorn
boomed from the hull
of a ship that swayed
drunkenly atop of the surf
staying clear of the breakers
that crashed on the turf
The ship creaked a response
as it groaned a refrain
but the deft hand of a shipwright
would keep it sustained
for he’d hewn and he’d whittled
great emblems of love
carving an angel for the figurehead
and atop the masthead, a dove.
When the wind stopped his jostling
and the sea spent her ire
the ship slipped back to its haven
of warm hearths and bright fires
where the men mused and wondered
over great tankards of ale
if the hymns and hosannas..
had been but, the wind in the sails?
It’s snowing ….incandescent, luminescent,
Silvery snow, whispering dreams of rejuvenation...
Air misty, breeze calm, serene!
Do I see the divine Star, which directed the wise men
To a stable on an enchanting evening of starry twilight ...
Winter in sublime aura, orchestrating a sonata of
Harmony, poise, grace, artistry!
Sights through my window-panes are blurred!
Rooftops getting blanketed with white shimmering laces!
Treetops beautifully embellished with silver ornaments,
Grasses caressed by the softest drizzle of snow!
Magnificent Willow stands in silent prayer,
Calm and composed, so does the unruffled Evergreen,
Stretching its arms in thankfulness,
Decked with shimmering snow-pellets,
Gleaming and glistening as the countless stars are,
In the absolute darkness of the magnanimous cosmos,
Majestic jewellery adorned.
Tranquil, serene, noiseless, moonlit nights,
Mesmerizing snow, falling uninterrupted, unhindered,
Envelop with cadence the entire universe around me.
I glimpse a life of multi-coloured hues,
In every snowflake I behold,
The inspiring dreams, the fervent hopes,
The intense ebullience, the solitary woes -
For ever crystallized. Winter creates
It's very best composition! I am lost in dance...
Softly to the hypnotic rhythm of the sonata!
silence rules the night
shadows move about
rain falls like tears
weeping wind bows to
no one
yesterday has been packed away
tiny boxes and envelopes
stored in the unsuspecting minds
of the lost between you and i
finding it hard to find my way home
overtook the moving day
cluttered thoughts of you
is stored in this fog escaping the end
more shadows become new
separating the gifts of life
who's ?
in this darkness i can see
over come by the dense fog i can feel
the fact that nothing is said is my fear
i want to declare my innocence
silence is the night that hold the deafening
screams of death of yesterday
snugged away in there rightful places
counted and numbered perfectly composed
file cabinet, rolodex eyes finding it's part
who's part or what part is mine?
silence rules the night
Note: In 1976, Richard Clayderman (real name Philippe Pagès) received a telephone call from a well-known French record producer, who was looking for a pianist to record a gentle piano ballad. Paul had composed this ballad as a tribute to his newborn second daughter “Adeline”. The 23-year-old Philippe Pagès was auditioned along with 20 other hopefuls and, to his amazement, he got the job.
O sweet Adeline, born eyes open
And a smile on her small lips.
O delicious child I heard her gurgle
As if she had heeded a joke.
A tune raced in his mind and
He knew it was urgent to put it on paper.
The babe made noises of joy
And the music echoed its tune,
At times it was repetitive
At times it sounded soft and sweet.
But soon the babe raised her voice
A repetitive mellifluous melody
Lulling the babe to sleep.
Dream little child, dream on
Would that you have pleasant dreams,
And may the Good God bless you forever.