Long Contest Poems
Long Contest Poems. Below are the most popular long Contest by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Contest poems by poem length and keyword.
In an old Victorian building live two cats and a lady,
The girl cat is Patches and the boy cat is called Peanut;
And the lady is called mother, they all live in harmony.
One day, mother decided the cats needed to have collars,
So, she bought a pink one for Patches and a blue one for Peanut;
Each collar had a little bell that tinkled and tinkled as the cats walked.
Now, Patches loved her collar but Peanut twisted about,
He flopped on his back, putting his paws inside the blue collar;
Finally, the bell fell off and he pounced after it across the room.
As Patches walked around her little bell went tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
Peanut was determined to get that bell and became quite the pest;
Mother talked to Peanut telling him to STOP and leave the bell alone.
When mother came home from work the cats came,
She reached to stroke Patches and noticed the pink collar;
The bell was MISSING, she looked at Peanut, bad cat she said.
Where the bells went is still a MYSTERY that will stay unsolved,
Patches always wore her pink collar, she really loved to show it off;
Peanut totalled destroyed his within days and was very proud of that.
Mother pulled out furniture to look for those bells,
She looked in every corner, in every cupboard and drawer;
The bells were too big to eat, where did Peanut put those bells.
Well in time Peanut, although young went to heaven, God decides,
Patches followed not long after and mother was left so heartbroken;
One night, she was awoken to the sound of two tinkling, tinkling bells.
And still years after . . . she often hears those mysterious tinkling bells.
____________________
October 27, 2012
Poetry/Narrative/The Mystery Of The Bells
Copyright Protected, ID 10-431-323-27
All Rights Reserved, 2012, Constance La France
In Memory of Peanut the Cat and Patches the Cat
(and the bells have never been found)
Submitted to the Standard contest, Mystery
sponsor, Nayda Ivette Negron, Judged 11/2012
Third Place
It is in the grey of icy evenings
When those dimly-lit wishes seem to fade,
A bitter nip, a woe this season brings
The chafing of hope's ardor, delayed.
Even though I grieve during the passage
Of summer’s festive and vigorous trails
How could I not ponder on this new stage;
As the quiet of misty Fall unveils
Reflective pauses where breaths gently ease
The dark and long wait of unanswered squall;
Endowing thoughts with a hymnal reprise
And, guiding stillness with poise that enthrals.
It must be the cold flakes in dusk-like stent
That restores hope with godly contentment.
Sara Kendrick’s A Penny For Your Thoughts Contest
“Hope is faith holding out its hand
in the dark.” ~George Iles
-----------
by nette onclaud
3/20/2015
I go to a place of memories
That haunt my vivid dreams
On a winding path I walk,
The path is always there ;
Old oaks bend their branches,
Of dripping leaves and moss ;
The grass is emerald green,
And many birds chirp unseen,
Chipmunks scurry here and there,
Running up and down the trees.
And all around are flowers bright
They flutter in the breeze.
She waits beyond this bend;
Oh she was my sister love.
How we liked to play and play,
Until that sad, dark day,
She went to be an angel above.
I think it was God's will.
A rose I place upon her grave,
And now I write the pain.
The last time I saw my sister love,
She lay in repose so sweetly;
Her lips were rosy in death stillness.
Arms folded as if in prayer,
I kissed her cold dead cheek,
And I will remember her ;
Sleeping in her eternal ever rest,
Her dress of the softest pink.
The years have slipped past me,
I am no longer a little girl ;
But a woman of many years,
Yet when I walk this path,
I go back to that sad day.
The day I watched sister love,
Lowered into the earth below;
Mother Earth opened wide,
And then she was a memory.
A memory that will haunt me,
In all my days that remain ;
This place of deep sorrow,
A winding path beneath the trees,
A name upon cold stone ;
In poems inspired I write the pain,
Of a my beloved sister love
________________________
August 15, 2015
Poetry/Verse/I Go to a Place of Memories
Copyright Protected, ID 15-699-974-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, No More Masks,
sponsor, Catie Lindsay
8th Place
They enter the strip
joint like the last
flurrie of flakes.
She hears the music,
hears the voice of the
D.J. Wind, enters on cue.
Her cold poles await her
as she moves to the beat.
One south, one north.
She works them both.
They call her Storm
she is the feature act.
Drawing her minions
in for months now.
Quickly the starkness of ivory
starts to melt off her body.
The long blanched gloves
covered those particular
patches are the first to go
revealing the fresh lustre of
bare skin once again exposed.
Sexy,
she's a professional!
She stares out
noticing the skeletal
frames once only
shadows,
now with a glimmer
of light.
She knows her time
is short now
feels a hint
of life in her
domain of
dead stares.
Hears sounds
that are telling.
Was that really a chirp
or just a whistle?
The pulse of warmth starts
to pump through her veins.
Now her shiny robe
falls to the ground and
you can sense the smell
of want in the air.
The flow of liquids
previously frozen stiff.
Storm the stripper
slowly teases the crowd.
Down to her Victoria Secret
garb she tugs at our groins
knowing her audience craves
more.
In this case that also
means less.
I personally will miss her
in this present form.
Her tidy white lingerie
against her tanned skin.
Covered peaks,
rounded mounds.
You just want to
ride up, and maneuver
your way down.
The timing is wrong.
I know she will strip bare
as first the top goes then
down to a G-String of snow.
Naked,
winter stands
in front of me.
She will meander a bit
shake with a breeze
of perfumed cold.
Slide onto the floor as she undulates
with her come ons that near a finality.
She saunters off the stage
and me I watch winter's end.
Spring, on winter's barren
ground starts to peek from
around the curtain,
with her touch of green.
Warm breezes.
Her array of pastel colors.
Ladies and Gentlemen,
Winter has left the building,
Spring is here!
01~19~2015
Sponsor: SKAT A
Contest: Winters End
Sweet Connection
There are many resting places
on the trail around the blue lake
that draw us in to sit and relax
at the beautiful park at Mohonk House.
Rough-hewn, weather-beaten benches,
hand-made with peaked roofs,
on high ledges with magnificent views,
comfort sore backs during hikes.
Etched on posts and seats,
are initials and names deeply carved.
My thoughts wander as I run my fingers
over them to caress the souls...
all those who left their mark
from recent days to dozens of years ago...
I bask in my felt, sweet connection
with them in this shared beauty.
Sandra M. Haight
~Honorable Mention~
Contest: The Park
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Judged: 02/20/2016
~1st Place~
Contest: Sense of Touch
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Judged: 09/06/2015
I pick up my notepad and find a sharp pencil
(Hope any comments won’t be too detrimental)
I scan the contest themes and hope I’m inspired
I’ll enter an old poem if I’m just too darn tired
I post my ‘best effort’ and hope that I win …
Yet ANOTHER N/A so I start hitting the gin!
With tears in my eyes I soup mail all my friends
There’ll be a ‘screwed contest’, will that pay dividends?
I finish the bottle, then scan the 'best new poems list'
My poem’s ‘pisadeered’, how my eyes start to mist
My masterpiece isn’t there - where has it gone?
It’s been cast into the realms of total oblivion
My eyes are now closing, I’m too sozzled to write
It’s well after midnight so I’ll bid you goodnight ....
I wake in the morning, dash to check all the lists ...
but with all the moaning on blogs… they no longer exist!
Inspired by Jerry T Curtis's POTD
07~25~16
Wondering where is your book
Eager to have it and take a look
I’m sending them out in groups
Wanted to keep you in the loop
Also if you’re not in USA
Takes longer to mail your way
Don’t worry your info is secure
I’ll not share it be so assured
I want to say about a certain dear
Without naming names on here
That your donation will be sent
To the cancer center every cent
For those of you wondering where
Is my book please don’t despair
And if you feel you must still give
Send to a cancer center dear
I’ll include the address of one here
Or chose your own as most sincere
Your poetry brought joy and is great
A smile so proud sits upon my face!
Thank you poets who contributed!
A charming garden bloom called Love-in-a-Mist,
an old fashion flower romance kissed;
enclosed . . . . in a misty web,
with frilled leaves like thread.
So pretty,
toxic;
no kitty!
Grows wild in meadows,
in gardens it sweetly flows;
attracts butterflies and honey bees,
in the full sun this flower sways in the breeze.
_______________________________
June 12, 2019
Poetry/Rhyme/'Love-in-the-Mist
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1159-625-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to the contest, Your Choice- Flower
sponsor, Brian Strand
Honorable Mention
Written: November 11, 2025 for contest by John Anderson.
*****************
It hides behind the tongue,
It rolls up as a puff of fumes,
It just sticks around, you?
Not buried.
Folded, however
as a letter never sent,
folded at the corners
amidst the years.
It thrums in the silence.
amid two individuals
One time, who knew
Speaking sans words.
It is nameless,
Still, it knows yours,
It monitors your activities
Trace the border of your glass
When the room gets too quiet,
A hidden truth
It's not a cage—
It's mirroring
That's just a mirror
when the lights turn off.
It spreads roots
in the gentle earth of recollection,
spinning around
What you had intended to say but didn't.
It discerns your rhythms.
Pausing before reacting—how?
You may always laugh
A little uncomfortably,
Once an individual comes close
It is holding off
Not from evil intent,
still, from loyalty
It was given,
It also remembers
What does that signify?
Perhaps,
It blinks in a dream—
- a visage,
one phrase,
a door you didn't close.
And once you wake
Again, you bear it
akin to a coin
buried inside your jacket,
warmth emanating from your body,
never spent, either.
song is the freedom of captured souls,
trapped in unseen cages with unreached goals,
unravelled deep from heart, played with flair,
their melodies are set free in air,
rebound from stony walls, flow down streams,
ripple emotions, make and break dreams,
echo from mountains to the blue skies,
someone, someone please undo their ties!
rusty chains, shackles prison free thought,
black bird in the cage, yearns for her lot,
strings of violin play birds a lore,
of their happy days that were before,
freedom is greatest gift of our life,
that is often lost to human strife,
let them all free, let their hopes soar high,
let live in freedom, in freedom die!!
First placement
Written 26/10/2022
Lisa YY sponsored
Painting prompted poetry contest
based on picture 3
in support of many women in the world who are denied basic rights- in countries with primitive laws!
9 syllables each line 8+8 lines
113 words