Long Creation Poems
Long Creation Poems. Below are the most popular long Creation by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Creation poems by poem length and keyword.
In the labyrinth of time, where shadows spread their dark wings,
Without poets, without artists... the world would collapse into primordial chaos,
Seasons would disappear, civilizations would crumble to dust,
Thought and humanity would be lost in the abyss, life itself would wither;
Sterile darkness would reign, eternal and uncontested.
Poets and artists, the silent architects of existence,
Hold the threads of reality, weaving the tapestry of time,
With every verse, with every stroke, they evoke the seasons,
Creating the rhythm of life, the very heartbeat of the world.
I wander through the corridors of consciousness, with steps of smoke,
Where images and words merge into a symphony of being,
Without the delicate touch of art, everything would disintegrate,
An endless night, devoid of dreams, where even hope cannot breathe.
They determine the features of their age, the taciturn kings,
Guiding humanity with unseen hands, sculpting the dawn of tomorrow,
The future, docile and obedient, finds its form in their vision,
A canvas waiting to be painted, a poem yet undiscovered.
In this silent dance, I see the universe unfolding,
Stars aligning to the sonnets sung by invisible souls,
Poets dream of tomorrow, their words the ink of time,
Artists capture the light of life, their creations the pulse of our reality.
Without them, the cosmos would be an unfinished symphony,
Potential notes scattered in the void, disordered,
But in their hearts, the essence of existence takes form,
A dance of creation that keeps darkness at bay.
In this realm of thoughts, where consciousness flows like a river of stars,
I hear the whispers of poets from past and present, guiding my pen,
Together we dream of a future sculpted from hope and wonder,
A world where art breathes life into every dark corner.
And thus, in the labyrinth of time and space, they lead us,
The poets and artists, guardians of our fragile reality,
For without them, we would be lost in the night,
But with them, we always find the dawn, ever new, ever bright.
Briars scrape my flailing hand,
a fly drones overhead.
Prickly hedges drip with beads of squashed black fruit
basking in a sticky sun-lit mist.
Down this quaint unearthly country lane I tread.
Some strange presence, a mockingbird sixth sense
casts its unseen ring of watchful silence.
Drooping branch that creaks - spore-shedding fern,
covert ripple menace, symbolic dash.
Imagined signal from an imprint long ago,
long forgotten.
Ouch, you stung my ankle - spike green thistle.
Buffoon, sneak, playful oafish imp,
Joker in a deep, hollow crag.
Past issues seep eerily through an echo
of my downward plod.
Some granite rock peeps slyy upwards, straight up
through that wild and weedy labyrinth
where tortured souls dock.
A startled creeper darts from tree to tree,
shaken by a banshee scream that fills the air
with trauma.
Was that me or me hallucinating? The poor creeper cowers.
As the sun draws down its grey haze blind old batted eyelids squint.
Sahara heat my backpack on this lodestone march.
I gulp clay bake air, gasping, sos, leaf green dew
please slake this coarse vein thirst.
Is there a cul-de-sac that bears those footsole blisters inside my leather?
Or did I hear the bustle of a dim and distant road?
Relief road, release - eternal memory chaser fly.
Methinks the startled creeper knows a thing or two
I plod on.
Submitted : 14 th January 2022
Color is red, yellow, blue, pink, rainbow
across sky scape
Is black and white, only thing separate
white man from rest race
Where does hatred start against that
is not dominant
Many race scattered islands, Columbus
Idea to new world
Existing world European strip native born
Slavery or man authority to wealth is seek
Where we find ourselves better than that
sleep's gutter
Wealth of a nation broken down poverty levels
Benefit to life is to breath the price you pay
Life to the man, material way high living
Kings of whips my gash deeply bleeds
Even my own to survive old wars ashe skies
Can we not be free without chains rattle steps
Clocks of time ticking civilization existence
White out cover black while it's color brings
darkness depths
Describe as the pain, torcher of famine death
Is a man what they represent to be or lying soul
behind which evil presence lurking
Blood still red, stop heart and we all dead
Forget not colors fought in death as
one's have your back
Good and bad in each race that breathes
Color new world, isn't beauty in eye of beholder
Have a heart, not a mind of misconception
Spare change was rare at our house when I was a lad,
But you could bet on it, when I got a quarter from my Dad,
I didn't blow it on mundane things like a baseball or a mitt!
I flew to the local Five and Dime to buy a model airplane kit!
The store shelves were piled high with model planes galore!
Spitfires, Hurricanes, Mustangs, Thunderbolts and many more!
The man at the counter patiently waited 'til I made my selection.
I needed the perfect specimen to add to my vast collection!
I set up my shop in the seclusion of our cozy attic,
Sanding, painting, gluing and poring over the schematic.
In isolation if things went awry, I could utter a cuss word or two,
Without Mom yelling, "Son, I don't know what's to become of you!"
From the ceiling of my room hung dozens of the things,
Each floating aloft supported by delicate gossamer wings!
How oft I'd lie abed dreaming of flight, sensing total elation,
Freed from earthly bonds, soaring above the beauty of Creation!
Assembling balsa wood planes required a certain degree of skill.
Nowadays, they're hard to find and cost a twenty-dollar bill!
The plastic models of today are realistic but will never compare,
To building your very own creation and releasing it in the air!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Entry for Frank H.'s "A Childhood Memory" Contest
As she drinks nectar from a flower, sweetness from heaven falls like dew
anointed with a gentle rain amidst sun showers she appears as if on cue
Lifting her wings she lands on a Zinnia beneath a tinted sky of April blue
flight of fancy fanning fast, fabulous marvel, she is beauty true on true
Wistful, floating over the silence poured out by nature’s trembling light
beneath a sunrise where joy caresses the wings who rest through the night
Her song is flowing like a river of soothing, across stones of gentle hope
while there comes a laughing wind on the skies who assure me I can cope
Breathless prayers reveal the spirits of those whimsical hints of God’s grace
pouring out joy through colorful arms, glistening with purple and gold lace
Enchanting my spirit, her wings sing of stories in nature’s wonderous life
fanciful fantasies woven by threads of light who drive out every part of strife
Her music engulfs my heart with a feeling, both reflective and hypnotizing
walking through the garden where she hesitates to invite me, so surprising
On winds of elation, her story is written by the One who counts the stars
creation remembers that He is the Light who pens each of our memoirs
Let God know that His gentle voice speaks in her wandering dashes
reminding souls that His love is so strong it brings glory from the ashes
As the butterfly flits from rose to azalea, leaving a trail of colorful hues
know that her rushing from flower to flower is how she echoes His muse
One hundred and fifty years ago a man made a huge hypothesis
Species after species would grow so from algae we came to this
Life itself still unexplainable yet this theory had gone on to say
These changes are incredible always working out in a perfect way
There weren’t any facts behind simply his observation from a far
And neither I even remind, science has long since crushed that bar
For without even a microscope not even knowing of the complex cell
So to then know the atom, there was no hope of knowing that as well
But he told his little story without facts or a single fossil of change
You see, that is all God’s Glory and Genesis, Darwin can’t rearrange
Even with all the proof today, the amount of technology in our hands
A society has lost its way when it’s own creation, no one understands
For all will be held without excuse standing naked in Our Fathers eyes
For it will be too late to choose the Truth once you’ve come to realize
For today the proof is before you, you need only to go and seek it out
But no matter what you may do in the end no one will have any doubt
For since the creation of the world God's invisible qualities--
his eternal power and divine nature--have been clearly seen,
being understood from what has been made,
so that people are without excuse. Romans 1:20
I’m on my walk this morning…it's the very first day of May…
so what would make me think of Christmas…eight months or more away?
It started out like any other walk…in quiet serenity…
until I turned a corner and saw this magnificent magnolia tree.
It’s the same magnolia tree I’ve walked by a thousand times before…
but today there was something different…something I chose not to ignore.
It made me stop in the middle of my walk…knowing in time I would resume…because there is nothing quite as beautiful…as a magnolia tree in bloom.
The new blossoms, which opened only yesterday day…so big and beautiful and white…close up into a bulb under the covering of night.
The snow white bulbs against the shiny green leaves is enough to cause elation…enough to make one stop and stare at one of the wonders of creation…
But today there was something else that made me stop and swoon…for sitting atop this magnolia tree…and glowing…was the moon.
I admit to a a bit of confusion…a moment of disbelief…as the moonlight seemed to sparkle and light up every leaf.
She was decorated with ornaments…she had her own luminosity…and the moon…well…it looked just like an angel sitting atop a Christmas tree.
Which is why a magnolia tree in the moonlight took by breath away today…
and why my thoughts all turned to Christmas…on the very first day in May.
THEY COVERED A WIDE RANGE OF APPROACHES
CERTAIN ONE'S THEY SOUGHT UNFIT, BUT WOULD
REVISE THEM TO HAVE OTHER'S INPUT, THE INPUT
FROM THOSE WHO HAVE BEEN TAUGHT THE SECRETS
OF "tHe DuE-dEn-mOuNd ". tHE aCEINT ART OF
" WRESLTE SCIENTIA"
THEORITICAL SCIENTIA AND THE MORE POPULAR
APPLIABLE APPROACHES. tHE LEDGEND GOES, WHEN
THE MEN OF 500 (HOURS) HAS SEEN THE dELGRIN OF
MEATUS, " WHICH SMIRK'S ARE SUM'S OF MILLIONS
AND THE PROMISES OF GOLD AND WEALTH, FINDS HIM
TO SEE HIS PATH AS THE WAYS TO INSPIRE, HIS CALL SHALL
MAKE STRAIGHT THE WHINDING PATHES
THAT HE ONCE HAD TAKEN. hE SHALL STUDY, TO BE BEST, AND
HIS KNOWLEDGE SHALL EXPAND TO THAT OF A "DuE GeE-bUOf"
THE MALE FACTER OF MATTER, HE SHALL SWELL TO MAKE HER HIS QUEEN
AND THOSE MEN THAT SEEK WEATH SHALL SEE HIM AS GREAT, AND SHALL RECOGINIZE HE SHALL LEAD THEM INTO THE EVENING
THAT THEY SHALL WORK IN THE NIGHT, AND BE REWARDED BY WEATH AND FAVOR ( HOST OF SEXY WOMEN)
THE BLESSING OF gOD, hE WHO CREATES, AND DISTRIBUTES LOVE.
LEADERS HAVE FOLLOWERS: mANAGERS HAVE SUBORDINATES !
I Speak For Me
A girl is a girl
A boy is a boy
Babes a blessing
Not a propaganda ploy
I am a woman
A woman I honor to be
This so called equality
Does not speak for me
Mankind is mankind
No beast evolved
My faith in our creator
Will not be dissolved
I speak as a woman
A woman freely to be
This called equality
Does not speak for me
You speak not from my mouth
As you promote human slaughter
You speak no truth in rights
For killing a son or daughter
You may deny for yourself
Your own blessed creation
Exploit your nakedness
Flaunt 'for the nations
While you shout and sing
Trade your beatuty for fight
Throw out your virtue
To wretchedness of night
I say I am a woman,
A woman God formed me
Your feministic slander
Does not speak for me
I am a woman
A woman honored to be
With virtue, truth, love
Speaking my equality
His mother left him as an infant
Only one place that he could go
Into the arms of proxy keepers
From foster home to foster home
He always got along with others
It always felt like family
But just as soon as he found brothers
A car pulled in and they would leave
He had one memory with his mother
Rocked back and forth in track marked arms
She said your better off without me
I'll pray you never come to harm
Time went by fast, the seasons passed him
Inside the carousel of care
And when he turned eighteen they gave him
A welfare check and one way fare
He found a job as a custodian
Inside a local boxing gym
But soon his cleaning days were over
When their best coach set eyes on him
He had a spark somewhere inside him
That made him stronger then the next
Became an outright scrap machine
And his opponents were perplexed
The world didn't pay him any favours
But toe to toe he won respect
He started cashing in the thousands
For every fight another cheque
He hired a lone investigator
To find his mom some way somewhere
And when he learned where she was living
Got in his car and drove right there
He said it cannot be this dump
And put his car right back in drive
But just before he hit the pedal
He heard a woman scream inside
Ran like a demon, kicked the door down
Met by the voice of some big goon
Who said,
Whats wrong now?
You a customer?
Did one of my whores steal from you?
He gave the gold strewn pimp a warning
And said I'm going to count to ten
If you don't want to go to sleep
Give me my mother Evelyn
When she was safely in his Beamer
He took her to his downtown flat
He said I know your life is awful
My mission is to change all that
And when withdrawals came with cravings
She cried inside one of his hugs
She said, lord help me, I abandoned
This angel sent here from above
That angel left wrapped in a towel
Placed with a note inside a crate
Had cried for her, not for his own self
The one that he had come to save