Long Denser Poems
Long Denser Poems. Below are the most popular long Denser by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Denser poems by poem length and keyword.
SNOW FALL in winter, SNOW drops in rain
Sledges slide on slippery SNOW
SNOW caps on sky-kissing Mountain
Water freezes to form SNOW
SNOWDROPS are tender and shy
Sunrays dazzle on SNOW
SNOWFLAKES are winter glory
Skating is a fun on SNOW
SNOW WHITE in dwarf’s den
Eskimos dwell in Igloo on SNOW
SNOW BITE is a scary pain
Penguins live happily on SNOW
SNOW WHITE is a special color
Water is denser than SNOW
SNOW floats easily in water
Glacier is slow moving SNOW
11/16/15
For SNOW Contest
Sponsor Shadow Hamilton
6th place in contest
Never again this moment will come,
you just know that, so,
Mending of hearts would take a lot of time,
to fix a mood, low
My sleep is getting darker and denser,
A rather dreamless one
Things in life are withering out,
leaving so many tasks undone.
One fine morning, when sunlight will be melting down
The rays of dawn
I will kiss your sleeping face,
I will whisper in your ear in a gentle tone
“Do you still have time to see the horses in your dream,
Did you see them?”
This will wake you up. Your naive face will have a question.
For me or for them...
“Why did you not wake me up before?“
Leaving an echo only questioning the same.
All creatures in the world are born givers
They’re sprinkled salts giving tastes on earth
They generously offer services or in kinds
Others give themselves for all mankind
Among them, cheerful givers are easy to define.
Cheerful givers render voluntary service from the heart
Don’t expect rewards in return from the start
Like trees in the fields with all comforts to offer
Aren’t like clouds that give rain only when denser
Or give imbalance scale in the eyes of arbiters.
Cheerful givers give what they have out of love
Never count- for them is to forget the past
Like flowers opening their petals from mini garden
While their blooming sounds remain in silence
As we savor their fragrance ‘til across the fence.
Cheerful givers work hard for mission to vocation
Like birds flying far leaving their eggs for provisions
Not minding any penny to come along
Out of generous hands, they share in happy songs
With warm widely open arms to prolong.
Cheerful givers give their best to others for the Lord
They’re Jesus’ co-workers in vineyard of brotherhood
Since the Lord is the most cheerful givers of all
Who created, gave life and redeemed the world
His Divine Provision is a paramount paradigm to behold
For all God's givers, more blessings unfold.
Sept. 26, 2020
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I tapped my keyboard, my eyes bleary
As I tried to write a novel that was no bore
I looked for inspiration, how to avoid clichés temptation
I’d write about rejuvenation—hope for the lonely lass Lenore—
An epic tale of a maiden born anew named Lenore—
A blockbuster for evermore.
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
“I have writer’s block, Mr. Raven, perhaps thou might be a maven.
Though you be ghastly grim and ancient wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me can a modern writer craft prose that’s not a bore?”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“My idea that just can't lose, a crippled, homeless guy who likes booze
He’ll rise to fame and glory but I worry on some phrases in this story.
This and more I plan I’d write but the DEI staff might fight
On the plot’s blood and gore that tells life’s authentic core
Where from zero to hero, he’ll wins the fair Lenore
Wins her love forevermore!
The Raven looked pained and croaked "Nevermore!"
Then, the air got denser, this bird was a woke censor
A ghastly leftist bird who drifted over my parquet floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “who appointed thee—to impoverish my vocabulary
Give me respite – let me write my way the story of Lenore;
Don’t dilute my novel to be a crashing bore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
Is it possible nowadays to write a novel at all?
Can I earn more than zero, if I include a macho hero
A macho hero to clasp a demented maiden who won't be sore--
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore?”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—
“Get thee back into the tempest and the underworld’s dark shore!
“Don’t use ‘dark” said the Raven, “use BIPOC instead” as he continued sitting
On the pallid bust of Obama just above my chamber door;
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out my body that lies contorted on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore!
The lamp that invokes the dusk,
A splendid natural frisk,
Eccentric among the constellation of stars,
Concealing your char to the view from Mars.
Masking your beauty with the darker clouds,
Blushing away from the denser crowd,
Calming the Earth with the cooling rays,
The land that was warmed up in many ways.
Beetling in the sky,where none can arrive,
Thy captivating vision makes us revive!
Shattering the differences and detachments,
Entrusting, we are under the same sky of bondings and attachments
The enthralling "Prima Donna" of the lovely night, Thou !!!
To you, I make a bow !!!!
The duck-billed platypus is odd and, if the product of a god,
it's difficult to understand, why such an animal was planned,
but maybe when the rest was done, there was stuff left and so begun
one animal made from the dregs, made wearing fur and laying eggs,
enough left for a creature that, was smaller than a household cat,
with waterproof thick body hairs, packed denser than a polar bear's.
Its hearing's good, its eyesight keen, but colour vision doesn't mean
much to it; strangely still we find, when hunting, it hunts deaf and blind
for underwater, its prey yields, its presence in electric fields
which guide the platy to its kill, through sensors in its duck-like bill.
The mating season brings new quirks, two ovaries, but just one works,
the left one has to do for her, while he sports a strange poisoned spur;
for this creature is, not least, the only furry venomed beast. *
*All the facts above were checked, but one turned out not quite correct
Alas, the last line is not true - there also is a venomed shrew!
In the heart of worlds, a whisper sneaks,
"We fear love," a question that ripples the calm,
We desire closeness, a sweet plunge into the verdure of the soul,
Yet doubt surrounds us when our steps become hesitant, scared.
It's the mist of fear that sprouts, a shield against the fiery longing;
The closer we stand, the deeper the longing might burn us.
It's the terror of suffering that lurks in secret,
Of being swept away and drowned in a sea of pure love, wrapped in deceptive play.
We vow nostalgically, let no one scratch our arrow,
In this deaf endeavor, we've covered love like a relic, beneath an inert mask.
There is no pure love without the slightest pain, without hidden tears in the eyes,
The denser the embrace, the deeper the poison that could seep into memories.
Every soul that treads upon this clod of earth has felt a twinge ever so strong,
How shall we direct this pain, how to stand tall and unfooled?
If we hide our pain, like a transmitter with clashing signals,
We long openly, but raise walls around the heart, and thus we suffocate.
Loneliness embraces us, pure love cannot break through,
Love, that we keep in a sealed box, the desire for tenderness dwindles.
But look, I've opened up, vulnerable, with the gate of my heart wide unshielded,
I do not tremble before pain, for it probes my spirit, uplifts it into love.
Life teaches me time and again, what repairs the pain lets the heart grow,
If we bolt our feelings, we sink into misery, in the realm of petrified dreams.
True love, with an open heart, we must welcome into our being,
And only by traversing through love's enchantment, truly, our steps are led towards happiness.
An old gal applied to join Mensa
Gee she couldn’t be any denser
She went in the wrong door
On the thirty third floor
And there she enrolled as a fencer
When attending her first fencing class
A man scored a hit on her huge ass
She screamed out so loud
It drew quite a crowd
She cannot abide failure – its crass!
WRITTEN BY JAN ALLISON
She hollered and screamed for a medic
I swear it was worse than a dead duck
one without any wings
oh the horror she sings
she's much more than dense she's pathetic
WRITTEN BY TIM SMITH
She swore that she really could spell
And in math she did surely excel
But once she felt pain
All she did was complain
And whined as her sore butt did swell.
WRITTEN BY CHRIS GREEN
That old gal then became a method actor
but one thing soon became a huge factor
she forgot all her lines
her mentality declines
now she sputters like a John Deere tractor
WRITTEN BY LIN LANE
Her butt was so sore she bought leeches
Gently placing them in her breeches
To suck out the bruise
We could hear her oooh's
I felt sorry for the poor creatures
Her butt was so big like a whale
all that was missing was it's tail
so they stuck a flag up her ****
called it the new Khyber pass
she went a whiter shade of pale.
WRITTEN BY SEREN ROBERTS
"Am I smart?" is what she kept asking
In glory she hoped to be basking.
Suddenly she farted.
The whole room departed.
Now finding fresh air is their tasking.
WRITTEN BY DALE GREGORY COZART
She sat for the test with all smiles
Filled out the forms and the files
But she spelled her name wrong
Became twisted of tongue
And was thrown to the crocodiles.
WRITTEN BY RICHARD D SEAL
07-17-17
Seems the old gal was a talented tart
Clearing the room with but one single fart
Wiping their eyes
All those wise guys
Soundly applauded her flatulent art
WRITTEN BY LIM'RIK FLATS
07-18-17
Sinking in sweltering fire
Angst rooting me to the spot
This denial-- feeding the liar
I swim in no emotion...much like a robot
Drunk by the flooded regret
Many the times you refuse my offer
All the time you refuse it, it forms a flood; masked with a tidal suicide
Your hoarse whispers refusing my cries
Wanting the best of my anger
Afflicting bafflement and torture
To a headstrong form
You wicked witch,
You could never burn, can you?
Sweep me to your wicked plans
Gaining witchcraft to burn out our limits
Your encompassed spells makes us endure to your power
Your melting desire-- a sour,
Despicable sense of pride in your presence
Devours the paralyzing thoughts materializing into evil paradise
You wicked witch,
Could you ever burn, you cruel elder?
Your on the other side,
Tripping on eruptive highways
Led astray by the senseless tide
Materializing into erupting paradise
Catch me in your web;
get out of your corner, killer spider
Drooling acidic lies on the pavement
Led astray by fetching fatality in your entangled snare
You already agreed to
refuse my offer
Uncooperative in your
bogus decisions
I gave up persuading you to go the opposite direction
But your bogus arguments
Take advantage of my offer
And shriveled it in its denser reasonings
I'm a flaw to your
sun-drenched heart
I want to be apart of your belongings
Tell me I'm not
rotting in denial
You already agreed to
refuse my offer
Uncooperative in your
stranger decisions
Your amusing, foolish girl
You have a giving heart
But yet you'll refuse my blissful offer
Mock my presence, foolish women
Remain a rueful scoffer
Happy two thousand nineteenth birthday Autumn - September 23, 2019!
Despite twittering, uber
sputtering kickstarting
onset of cool weather
argh, another brief daily spate
re: forecasting blistering,
nauseating, sweltering...
ninety degree plus Fahrenheit
temperature forecast
(along eastern seaboard)
courtesy mister summer,
who will overstay his welcome
hoop fully a more seasonable
cooling trend rounds out ninth month
(according to Gregorian calendar)
I eagerly look forward
to crisp refreshing air
much more comfortable
to weather being outdoors
within/out this sequestered enclave
postage stamp size geographical area
offers respite versus metropolitan
denser population centers,
the former disappearing open space
rather disheartening, but urbanization -
purportedly the definition of progress
finds once open farmland
less than fifty years back
crumbling barns now tombstones
testimony when people
farmed the land, and lived
linkedin with rhythms of nature,
which only found courtesy said vestiges
inevitably razed (similar to boyhood home
324 Level Road) finds yours truly
brooding fast paced instant
credit karma gratification
twenty first century, which
small, medium forces at large
outfox the time tested imprimatur
i.e. latent powers planet Earth
unleashes (thank you global warming)
decrees final curtain call
*****sapiens runs rampant
wreaking havoc all points of compass
already inundated with scorching,
melting ice caps, flooding...
future generations, yet unborn
might avoid predicated on
dramatic alternatives fossil fuels
already showered Gaia
with carbon dioxide
as well other noxious poisons
though vibrant advocacy
evident among students
vocally demonstrating against
irrevocable damage, whereby environment
and countries situated
near sea level take heavy hit,
nonetheless... cautious optimism flickers
inducing mandatory one hundred eighty degree
reorientation regarding eco friendly
methodologies to lo mein, maintain,
sustain... technological civilization,
else quaint existence of thee
will be read about
in digitized history books.