Long Countless Poems
Long Countless Poems. Below are the most popular long Countless by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Countless poems by poem length and keyword.
Why did you invoke pain in my heart?
You have created a black hole in my heart,
Countless galaxies and stars I have swallowed,
No emotions or feelings are left behind in my heart.
Wish you had given a few rays of hope in my heart,
I would have become a supernova in the explosive creation mode of universe,
Many galaxies, stars, and planets would have born in my heart,
All bonded together in love in the dark world of starry skies.
I am heart broke,
I watch moon revolving around the earth,
In my thoughts and dreams,
I revolve around with gravitational attraction around my love.
In dark or moonlit nights,
Enchanted with the glimmer of twinkling stars,
Heart flies and sits amongst the stars,
Hoping my lover would take a glimpse with her beautiful eyes.
Before the mountains learned to rise,
Before the oceans found their tides,
Tiny travelers crossed the night,
Carried softly on cosmic light.
Particles born in distant stars,
Wandered far beyond the scars
Of ancient suns that burned away,
Leaving whispers in their wake.
They drifted through the silent deep,
Where galaxies and comets sleep,
Until the Earth, with open skies,
Welcomed them to a new sunrise.
They settled in the soil below,
In rivers where the wild things grow,
In every leaf and every stone,
Planting seeds yet to be known.
Through countless years they changed their form,
Enduring calm and weathered storm,
Becoming roots, becoming rain,
Becoming life again and again.
Within each heart, within each mind,
Their stellar fingerprints we find;
A hidden story, old and vast,
Connecting future to the past.
And from those fragments of the skies,
New dreams awakened, opened eyes.
What once was dust in endless space
Became a voice, a name, a place.
So when we seek what we may be,
Look upward to infinity—
For every wonder yet to bloom
Began as stardust finding room.
What we think
with feeling...that which
we articulate – even if
heard by one ear alone –
reaches the multitudes,
having been written on the
invisible as well…
We are far taller, wider, deeper
than any measure would indicate;
far more dense, our dark sides
as vast as our lights – we travel
not only the tops
but bottoms of an
inside/outside universe,
where the real crosses with the
dream; ticks and tacks of civilizations
confounded with inalienable gods –
a board-game having trillions of players
and countless, irreconcilable stars….
For most men it is
up, down, inside
or out – the then
and now...but with
true freedom it is royally
the spoken way
and spoken how….
There are teams
There are great teams
Then, there are dynasties
In the world of women's sports
There have been few that measure up
To the 2019 USA Women's World Cup Soccer Team
Every one of these 23 talented women
Has been groomed for this purpose their whole lives
Playing, working, training, focusing, listening, watching, and concentrating
On ONE thing ... The World Cup Trophy
The pressure, rarely equaled, has been applied
The stories, countless and controversial, have been written
The stats, meaningful and managed, have been studied
The criticism, fair and false, has been aimed
The opponents, powerful and prideful, have been prepared
And the games, intense, exciting, and incredible, have finally been played
Now ONE team - one amazing team - stands alone atop the rest
Holding that storied golden trophy high ... high and noble and proud
Forty-six valiant hands that have set a new standard for sports
Not just women's sports, but ALL sports
A new standard for what it means to work and play as a TEAM
A new standard for excellence and class and athleticism
Congratulations and blessings to the USA
And the 2019 Women's World Cup Championship Soccer Team
A team for the ages ... a team for the people ...
And a dynasty, tried and true!
Written and submitted on July 7, 2019
For the "2019 FIFA Women's World Cup" Poetry Contest
Mark Toney, Sponsor.
To the office when I rushed to ask Khan,
To tell me what it meant and if at all,
And what I learnt from the old man was this:
A story of countless unrequited,
Unfulfilled longings, lurid flames of red,
Wild carnal pleasures raging within walls
Of the palace of ill repute, the curse
Of collective heartaches of teenage girls,
Of blasted hopes that made every stone nurse
A red grudge against the perpetrators,
The thirst of hungry stones, and all a whole,
In long years turning into prime haters,
Eager to swallow any living soul,
A famished ogre on an eating spree,
Not one that lived there three nights of a pause,
Could have escaped safe from its cruel jaws,
Save, Meher Ali— from all reasons free.
So, there is a way out for my release,
I posed, ‘of course for a man of your means,
Why stay beyond these hills, if you so please,
And you do well know how it all begins—
The tale of buds caught in a stormy sea,
And fated to live at that haunted shore,
Scarce anything could more pathetic be,
Anything more heart-rending to the core'.
_____________________________________________
Narrative |01.04.2024|
Note: A poetic translation of Rabindranath Tagore’s story in Bengali: Kshudhaarto Paashaana, divided in I to XIV parts, largely in blank verse that lapses into rhymes along with its twists and turns. The story is known to have happened during Tagore’s stay at Shaahibaug palace in Ahmadabad, the nearby river Sabarmati becoming river Suista in the story.
Were there a day when the writer has melted into the air
Left these words unattended cold, alone or being disappeared
Turning it into an unanswered question, representing for a part
Of the past of being human beings, who brought in soar tears
Touching waves of laughter as well as countless physical arts
However, nobody witnessed the fact and knew the mechanism
Except for the eyes, somewhere hidden in the mysterious sky
I would never be too bothered to look for them to make an appealing
(Though it might accidentally make a loyal follower of the stars )
As I care too much about the phenomena behind my feelings
Note: The following dialogue is between the voice of Mother Nature and the voice of man.
It is dedicated to the countless victims of the earthquake-induced tsunami in Samoa.
My Ring of Fire sets ready to erupt
For I, Mother Nature, have had enough
Of pollutants invading reservoirs
And oil-drilled coastlines, sands coated by tar
How thankful we are for this plentiful earth
Proceeds and profits boast our corporate worth
Our mistakes and errors in destructive ways
Mother Nature will repair in a matter of days
Sea creatures poisoned by hazardous waste
Trash left on beaches by people in haste
Sea oats destroyed as construction proceeds
Turtle hatchlings wandering toward man made beams
The land is aplenty with resources so fine
We can wash away the debris, reap when mined
Mercury, chemical and oils as well
Mother Nature will dilute as we continue to sell
Whales wash up and expire on ocean shores
Battleships litter the deepest sea floors
With thinning ozone, sea temperatures rise
Igniting rage in my volatile eyes
Another tanker runs aground of the Alaska coast
Insurance companies payout, our boards in toast
We can rely on our refineries and oil wells
For Mother Nature will replace and it will all be swell
Earthquakes, tsunamis are my weapons
Earth’s last days may be man’s time to reckon
We will reap the rewards as our conglomerates grow rich
Mother Nature will allow, our industrial snitch
Talk to Me…
Talk to me my love,
Your melodic voice,
I yearn to hear.
Let the precious words,
Like vivifying drops of rain to fall,
To my thirsty for tenderness
Droughty ears
Talk to me my love,
About the day that mine
Forever you be:
About the dear nights,
The loving months,
The happy years,
The innumerable kisses,
The million joys,
The countless dreams,
That you always will share
With me
Talk to me my love,
Your angelic voice
I die to hear!
Tell me my precious dream,
That the day we together,
Forever will be,
Is finally HERE!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
many a december twenty forth gone by,
whence wisp of carolers ghosts hauntingly adorn
remembrance of sum...
er things passed along tummy
from ma late ma alm
compunction eruption viz:
fruition, gumption interruption
sans redemption how became re: born
whereby this pop -
bleary eye lids ready to droop
with his tired bones snapping
and popping like jimmy crack corn
an immediate need to succumb to sleep
found me transfixed how blessings did a dorn
mine attention riveted at shrouded foghorn
echoing...choing...hoing
never knowing hands of time didst flap
matthew scott harris,
who yawned avast cingular gap
countless decades swallowed un hap
pulley lost soul within early
twenty something years
devoid of inner GPS to help map
and guide this stricken n fore lorn future pap
though the hour
(at time this got written) nsync kin rap
pa head lee well nigh
closing in on six in the morn
way before synapses snap
crackle and pop,
whereby the sage within mine psyche
waving a finger - tsk tsk - with mild scorn
for forgoing to bed, yet...
a powerful tsunami like force arose up
when viewing the account of how tara - blank -
became rent asunder and torn
from an terrible accident of fate -
though a miraculous recovery now worn.
now fast forward to recent past
receding extremely fast
as if powered by remnant cosmic blast
resulting in avast
blurred montage flickr ring
exercise regimen of running plus lifting weights -
perhaps so many reps of a curl
finds me applauding, huzzahing,
and praising daughter's efforts...so you go girl
with all inner strength pell mell into fitness:
disciplining molding, sculpting- yar body hurl
testing your limits to the max
whether across busy urban streets or...
where landscape offers open space with pearl
jam skies - in outlying less populated tracts -
giving freedom to dance n twirl.
Icicles hung from the roof
like translucent fingers
Clawing towards the ground
While behind the eaves,
She brushed her plain brown hair
Tired gray eyes in the mirror,
Discolored around the fringe
And gravity pulled at the frown
Like it did everything else
She was one of many,
A soul, a body
With all the glitter rubbed away
Winter breathed out its discontent
A heaving sigh that scattered leaves
Over mailboxes, churches, graveyards
You can lose yourself in those fields out there
Mired in snow, as countless as crows
As tin men, as a brick in the wall
And when three young girls,
All smiles and apple cheeks and roses
Walked by her window, she cast those grey eyes down
From above— her jaw nutcracker clenched
New England January froze her eyes
A hand clenched and unclenched
at their sparkly laughter
The brush rattled to the floor
As the girls disappeared from her line of sight
She was already a thousand miles away
Up into the cirrus clouds,
Each inch colder than the last