Long Composition Poems
Long Composition Poems. Below are the most popular long Composition by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Composition poems by poem length and keyword.
Was the purpose of your absence an attempt at causing me pain?
That crippling feeling, a spider spinning its web inside my mind.
That arachnid, poisonous, jeers the word space like a handicap.
That parasitic relationship forms a cloud covering the moonlight,
A fog that swirls like a whirlpool in your absence. How rapturous
Your paradox forming a bridge made from our memories. Broken and
Reshaped they become the foundation to a journey in that sea you
Created within me. Your withered emotions and fleeting empathy
were a false proposition of hope only a jester would find funny.
An exhibition of animosity lies in the silent waves – waiting –
for our sunset. How beautiful its rays are against the black water;
falling into the abyss, hidden under that rain your pseudo blanket.
Does the sunrise when you are blind? Does the moon set when
You can’t see the sky? That colorblind man sits there on the beach
Looking in silence. He cannot see his reflection within the water, he
Stands and walks to its surface. There he finds a crow crippled, limping
In the ripples where his reflection should be. That psychedelic feeling
Draws in his drowning breathe, falling into the sea. Paramount to his
Survival the man drowns, his understanding a paradox in his memory.
Only he, the crow, remembers the light of the moon. Its pompous shape,
that transcendent light, a memory to your decay. Only when yellow hits
the eyes of the crow will that white light fade beyond the thunderstorm.
He cries to the heavens, yet his speech murmurs under the weight. That
Black water suffocates his prayer, but he finds comfort in his anonymity. In
the presence of absence the crow longs for loss. He who is stolen from
wishes to be further buried, lost in the waves. That siren sings a fading
melody back into his ears. His own prayer an anchor tied to his feet,
crippled in your memory. Fractured in his own faith, what god heard
his suffering, his murmurs clots of air in a salty sea; black as the blood
from the wound you carved out in his chest. What blessing filled
his misery, that pseudo composition you create is a platter filled
with the feather of the crow. His words held sweet your grace,
an ensemble dancing in the mind of the forgotten. in the sea of
his followers he is Poseidon, yet still the crow sank, anchored in misery.
As Artists Touching an Audience - Thoughts on Creating
Beyond the full experiencing and aims of the creative process in all genres, there are the results, the “made” productions, the works, ready to be sent
out there
from the self
to touch other people in some (any) way of giving,
the created work
presented
to affect the anyone in those moments
of being-in-audience
to an artwork (In the perceiving and receiving of it)
to any degree.
As writers, musicians, actors, artists, we are gifted through
the creative process: through
our Felt involvement
from onset to culmination of the created works
And also when we, too, pause outside artworks,
as with all perceptions,
to examine and receive, to be touched in some way:
sensually, intellectually, emotionally, spiritually, creatively…
Nearly always, then, we make a judgement
about whether we Like what we perceive
(in all of life as well) in an artist’s composition —
Here
Is the work we have met with for a time
and let reach us…
No matter how briefly, the created work
has thus gone from being some “thing”
To being an Experience.
This accounts, I think, for why artists of all genres
feel more than an ownership of “products” about the works done.
Like a god-parent might, we
artists invest our whole being into
shaping works
to the full completion of their inspiration.
And, then, (as a person does for a fostered one or offspring)
we have a bond…with a desire to follow the path and reception
of our works In the world beyond us.
Our created works poise apart from us…
very like living things…
Lost works are grieved …Others
Also often pass long periods asleep, away
from any receiving audience, even from us, the creators…
Perhaps going forgotten;
Some envisioned works crafted into reality
may return to a collection of once unfulfilled dreams,
which do startle if they eventually wander
out from dark corners and curled pages.
They may have stayed in sleep…to
serendipitously rise for notice in a rebirth
Like garden perennials signaled to stand
in Spring surprise…in a new season of a gifting presentation.
—————————————————————————
Experimental prose-poetry
also an “Address of Poetry” blog, PoetrySoup
(I give 2nd Apologies to Aristotle for this :-)
(c) sally young eslinger 3/10/22
Thanks be to God
MY POETRY
Here's the entry !
Not for contest
but chanced to set,
doing my best.
Appreciate.
Directory !
Taking no theme
for her or him.
Nothing supreme .
Only blank film .
Biometry !
Light, strong or firm.
Thoughts sprout on arm.
Dreams shine on derm
carrying own charm.
Geometry !
Curvy or straight:
Whims going great.
May you accept
or can reject.
Gem Factory !
What's in a name ?
Words ef poem
glisten as gem.
Poetic game.
On Chemistry !
Combination :
Words ! Emotion !
Perfect fusion.
Composition.
Sweet Symmetry !
Words play random.
It's my freedom.
to feel seldom
any boredom.
It's Poetry !
Verse : Rhymes both run
each taking turn
in depth or fun :
Satisfaction.
I’m just having a good laugh while I still can dude before life takes its heavy grip
Until the community of clowns in disguise tie my tongue to their altar of reason
You think of a genius in the making but I just blew bubbles from my backside
Need some counter balance as not to think I’m off parity before the next photo
For the record I’m a bit sick of all those Rolling Stones songs on your play list
I can get satisfaction and you will be dancing to my tune as long as I tell you
Not yet silenced I am and you can’t always get what you want but will receive
What you need and moss could grow fat on that stone if you tried hard enough
I am your American dream or just pie in the sky for pi is a resolute number
And while I look like a young Einstein I favour the arts and a poet I’ll be
‘Baby’s got blue eyes holding back the pain’ reflecting the glow on your face
Give me face paint and Munch’s scream will look like Monet’s water colours
And those cute little ears I hear you marvel such fine complete composition
Soon they will find an audition of rebellion ignoring trite shallow advice
Craft verses and rhythm deliver fine words you never dreamt of hearing
The comedy will be shattering with a bit of existential philosophy in the mix
You can project dadada’s and incy-wincy spiders as long as the cows mew
I drink from a fountain of pleasure and spill ink on your canvas of conditioning
Think that I am overanalysing but that is what you do when I smirk and giggle
Canned laughter comes in Campbell’s soup cans and better Warhol than wars
Innocent facial composure lies in the eye of beholders and dreams are for real
Let me play for that is the best I can do when drama and tragedy loom so soon
I’ll have my dreadlocks in plaits and you must not be scared of Sylvia’s mother
Van Gogh had one ear but a writer needs only one incisive tongue to critique
My stream will be subconscious when I write about the meaning of imagination
When naïve contortions depict a world with smiles laughter and freedom
I will not change much from when the photographer took this digital image
Blue eyes stuck out tongue two ears one voice whatever you make of it now
25th April 2019
Written for contest: Baby Face What's You Thinkin
Sponsored by James Edward Lee Sr
Photo 2
Israel Beckoned...In A Dream
This secular skeptic beheld,
eyes hallucinated, harried, felled
and haunted by
holographic images gelled
that didst silently scream herald
ding exhaustively
roaming, schlepping, meld
ding and trudging across
elapsed, nor quelled
blinkered, bloodied dead souls
across fractured wartorn veld,
where bludgeoned ghastly
eons of pain did weld
throbbing inside my
scepter templed mount, aye
vicariously experienced
cumulative historical grief
past to present anti
semitism I decry
incomprehensible genocide, (though
not necessarily exclusive domain
of Moses troopers), nonetheless I
find mine existence
ably linkedin sigh
lent lee to the
bosom of Abraham,
no matter such
quasi confession doth fly
in the face, despite devout atheism,
a genealogical kinship inherently
peppers the genetic
mind of this
questioning (authority type) guy,
whose lack of
religion cannot dispel
no matter fuzzy, gauzy,
hazy, et cetera,
asper the existence
of heaven or hell,
and no idea what
will become of
Matthew Scott Harris, when bell
doth toll mine death knell
though methinks, i.e. this fell
low will merely decompose
forever oblivious to
global pell mell,
whose corporeal essence will spell
reincarnation relegating molecular
composition of this aging
ordinary physical being
whose existence particularly,
poignantly, and plaintively
punctuated with delicately
framed psychological housing
twilight years echoing
punitive hardship just barely shaking
free, whence adolescent
aborted suicidal effort
near cleft flickr ring,
anorexia almost got life
extinguished, gut wrenching
yank key undergo wing
life and death struggle rattling
the long gone souls
figurative rusted empty cages,
whose legacy aching Diaspora, ages
ago scattered tribes, especially sages
Exodus to Babylonian Captivity,
(c. 12th to 6th centuries BC),
proud unknown forebears rages
against contemporary
Hebrews existential wages
of experienced unfair recent gauges
(recording heinous twentieth century)
opprobrious persecution quashing
valuable vital and voluminous
absent contribution Jews
never written pages
forever hidebound historical legacy
unfairly demonized ever since pre
Biblical epoch anonymous stages.
Clarity, clarity, surely clarity is the most beautiful thing in the world, A limited, limiting clarity I have not and never did have any motive of poetry But to achieve clarity.
George Oppen
If it wasn't for poetry,
how would we portray stars of clarity?
Moon would appear silently ordinary,
how would we express that which is contrary?
Verses without stardust shimmer would be horrid,
no metrical composition would sound torrid.
No sapphire skies nor turquoise tides.
No ivory shores nor firefly guides.
No magic of butterflies dancing under moonlight.
A travesty of no lullabies to ease before midnight.
Horizons would appear blank, dismal and dark -
your muted muse would forfeit their spark.
If a poet's conscience suffers a premature death,
how would you honour their quill's last breath?
How would you express that painful goodbye?
No legacy for our words to poetically beautify.
Unable to honour memories of the deceased -
an unwritten elegy cannot praise a masterpiece.
Autumn would just be a modified season.
Spring slowly blossom without a reason.
Summer would bring no wonder in flowers.
Winter would be grey with freezing showers.
Would music suffer from atrocious lyrics,
unmetered songs only lead to hysterics.
Would poetic love exist?
Would our lips have ever kissed?
No expressions to defeat hate.
No epodic justice to fate.
No sweet sonnets to revere.
Shakespeare's world would disappear.
Romeo would not woo Juliet.
Literature students would forget
bards who bled ballads before us -
what would lovers have to discuss?
No angst or alliterations.
No 3am damnations.
No syllable creations.
No lustful flirtations.
An end to narrations.
All lost translations.
If there were only ugly words,
would it be the end of singing birds?
No emancipation of the oppressed.
No catharsis for the depressed.
Hearts would repress and suppress.
Demons would stress and digress.
If it wasn't for poetry,
I would still be a mystery.
I would not speak in rhymes,
there would be nothing to define.
My soul a misunderstood metaphor,
drowning in an inkless reservoir.
Life would become a burden,
as petals die in my poetic garden
and after everything has been said and done,
there would be no Poetic One.
My New Fusion Song
My Lyrical composition is based on the universal teachings
of Love & Brotherhood for All.
It is a cocktail of Hindi - English - Sanskrit
Theme - Politeness (Hindi Namrata) or Modesty
Nam Ho*, Namra bano* Namrata ki Jai Ho*
Nam Ho, Namra bano, Namrata ki Jai Ho
Nam Ho, Namra bano, Namrata ki Jai Ho
Nam Ho, Namra bano, Namrata ki Jai Ho
Namrata ki Jai Ho, Namrata ki Jai Ho
Nam Ho, Namra bano, Namrata ki Jai Ho
Jai Ho, Jai Ho Jaya Ho, Jai Ho, Jai Ho,
Jaya Ho, Jaya Ho, Jai, Jai, Jai, Jai Ho,
(Hindi lines)
Nam Ho, Namra Bano, Namrata ki Jai Ho
Bhed bhaav, bin gale lagaao
Sb par hi sneh lootaao
Fir dekho kaise, hain, bhar detin,
Khushiyaan, Daaman ko
Be polite and Be Modest - Let your Modesty win the Hearts.
There is only one Earth,
Only one life, everyone get on Earth
Give love to everyone,
Without difference and distinction
See then, how you would be filled
With the joys and pleasures of life.
Nam Ho*, Namra bano* Namrata ki Jai Ho*
Nam Ho, Namra bano, Namrata ki Jai Ho
Nam Ho, Namra bano, Namrata ki Jai Ho
Jai Ho, Jai Ho, Namrata ki Jai Ho,
Namrata ki Jai Ho Jai Ho,
Namrata ki Jai Ho Jai Ho, Jaya Ho,
Jai Ho*, Jai Ho, Jaya Ho*,
Jai, Jai, Jai, Jaya Ho.
Sanskrit Sloka
Na kaschid api jaanaati (Namrata Ki Jai Ho)
Kim kasya shwo bhavishyati (Namrata Ki Jai Ho)
atah shwa karanee yaani (Namrata Ki Jai Ho)
kuryaadd dyeva buddhi maan (Namrata Ki Jai Ho)
Meaning of the above Sloka:
Nobody knows what is going to happen tomorrow. Therefore, wise men finish their daily job same day itself and do not keep it for tomorrow.
Ravindra K Kapoor
30th Oct. 2014
Currently at Vindhyanagar M.P India
NOTE: This lyrical composition is protected under the Copy writes
provisions of Poetry Soup as per US rules.
Meaning of Hindi words:
Nam Ho* = Be Polite
Namrata* = Modesty
Jai ho* = Let it win
Jaya Ho* = same as Jai Ho
Namrata ki Jai Ho* = Let Modesty win
I
A right became an unexpected left;
Nothing more important than subliminal
country miles that pulled me forward,
no destination or thought to why,
just my surprise. Some ten miles gone,
I felt a ray of grace; the reason
for this race, and as I chased a trace
of errant time – I thought of a line.
I felt a now in my existence,
and shared a smile with the corn silk
light that fed my way, and the wind
that blew the hair around my face.
A chance to share some thoughts of mine,
Within the realm of reason, street and rhyme.
II
Once upon a time, in Everyday,
the minutes and hours of the human
condition, the hopes and dreams, sadness
and screams, the cries of sedition,
the plight of the lost, intolerance
and ignorance, expressions of love
for country and man, were duly recorded
by a poet's hand, a composer who scored the lay
of the land. And mouth to ear, where needed,
we shared his composition, in celebration
of the word's intended mission-
food for thought. And then it stopped.
We gave poetry away to obscurity,
to the teachers of form and craft,
who slipped overboard in their zeal
to define the titles for the times,
of what is a "must read", for greed,
and intellectualizing need,
to feed their egos and their jobs.
Indeed.
With speed, they redefined
and refined the voice of inspiration;
imagination served with a mutant strain
of peas. Poetry beyond the realm
of good digestion, the cause
of painful indigestion in the mind.
They built a world of poetry,
that will never sing a child to sleep;
Mutant peas engender nightmares
in the young.
III
She said,
"I love the way my body moves when I read Seuss."
(For any traditional poet, this mom's good news)
"But what of street, the beat and passion;
the march of voices crying to be heard,
the visualizations from a well-wrapped word?
Can you read one and exclude the other;
is it all about the prize and what's in fashion?"
"No, it's about what I like. Last night,
I drank in Whitman's leaves, with a little
Shakespeare chaser. and tonight, I might
guzzle Ginsberg and savor Kerouac
like a fine wine in meandering
subconscious streams."
Who could disagree with her taste in words?
So I drank a little more Baudelaire and went
to sleep myself.
Form:
linda-----listen to Leonard Cohen any song on youtube.....puhhhhhh leasssssse
he'll make you feel as inadaaquate as he does me, betcha....i cannot listen to his
words early because i would never write another word during the day.....DO NOT let
me know if he is or is not an unmitigated genius because I dig cliff hangars your
friend, ~free!~ AN UNFORGETTABLE EVE WHEN THE WIND OPTED TO
BLOW
SNOW
Saturday sought Snow and became a shawl for the entire northeast
but for me it was heaven sent
The lights from the lounge reflected off the white wide world
And the evening’s festivities were akin to feathers blessed by flight
It was the final tune of that night so right
And then she mystically appeared,
that evening’s gift to me
But no, ’twas music and dance no more for us that eve or evermore
For the band was on their symphonic way
And I did not inquire as to how I could touch her once again
So you see,
As seasons do disparate deeds April slay the snow………………
And as the ice and snow had done
sorrowfully she was gone
Hours devoured days since I’d held her hand to dance
Alas when dreamed did I of her
By what name wouldst she be summoned forth
Thusly I gave her many names
All mellifluent
All melodic
All floral
All names that claimed a soul serene
Each day I’d wonder why I lost that which would sustain me alone
No food, no drink, but ever do not wrench us two apart
I knew not the trail to her abode,
on a street blessed by her presence
No way to see that sight of light and brightness for me to behold
The next week I was calling Saturday sadder day
Yet and still a friend coaxed me into going where I had found the first sight of a
lady who was the embodiment of love made mystic by the music’s end
Never to be continued
Someone opened the door to the lounge
And the band was playing some kind of classical composition mixed with jazz
My eyes scanned the room that she might as I had, come there
but for to meet me
And yes, there she was, and smiled sensually as she drew near
We both agreed that week had been a master with no heart
And still, for years we’ve danced to music that gave our love its most romantic
start © 2011.…Phreepoetree
PHOUR PHOOLS PHOUR PHITES
You read the title correctly,
I realize that everyone's entitled to their own opinion
But, please read the entire story before you decide
Yes, I fell in love with a one eyed Minion
Like most of you I really enjoyed Despicable Me
and in it there was this one little guy
a bit shorter in stature, hair parted in the middle
Deep sigh. love at first sight with a Minion with one eye
His name was Stuart, and he was so playful and intelligent
I knew I was smitten, but alas he wasn't real
And although I could say the same about some humans...
I could not show this Minion fellow how I really feel
Wishful thinking flooded my mind
as I curled up in a comfortable chair, tired, but not sleepy
Next thing I know I appeared to be computer animated...
yet three dimensional...and yes I'll admit, it was a bit creepy
And there they were, a pack of Minions in the park
surging forward as one, looking for another leader
Then I saw Stuart nudge Bob and say, "That's her!
That's the babe that was checking me out in the theater!"
I was surprised that his speech lacked that familiar Minion dialect...
Stuart stood on a bench, and gave me the sweetest little kiss
He said, "I have noticed you in the movies, dozens
of times, but never thought I'd see you like this!"
Initially embarrassed that he knew I've watched him so often
the shame subsided as I spent the day at his place
We dined on banana flambe...and drank frothy banana shakes
Afterwards he serenaded me with a ukulele, with such style and grace
After dark, we took a stroll back to the park
Laying in the grass, I couldn't decide which shined more bright
the stars in the sky, or the twinkling in his eye
How I wished it could be this way every night
Stuart told me he thought humans were a glorious species
and that he loved me with all his heart
if it weren't for our differences in composition
we would never ever be apart
Then the sky and the ground began to buckle
All at once I was taken completely unaware
Instead of snuggling on the grass
I was reclining on that comfortable chair
I haven't seen him that way since,
I guess blu ray or dvd will just have to do
Although I miss him terribly, at least we had that one delightful day
Yes, I fell in love with a one eyed Minion, you do believe me..don't you?
2/25/16