Long Display Poems
Long Display Poems. Below are the most popular long Display by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Display poems by poem length and keyword.
The moist meadow of my heart
desiccates in desolation like a desert,
dispersed clouds of parched passion
make my mirage mind the deceptive sky.
The halcyon horizon I call mine waits
for the argentine moon to rise,
send from the fervent sparkling skyline
the sequins of your charisma
to swathe my sheltered shades of blues.
From the surge of sequestered sandstorm
the sands of my derelict desire drift away
from the shifting dunes of deprivation.
The dry oasis within me doesn’t remember
it was once an epitome of my longing.
Away from the wilderness of my loneliness
in the far away fawn forest,
I wish you turn into an emerald tree.
In its soothing shade I’ll like to repose,
hear the song of the leaves,
dancing in the breeze with your charm.
In the template of my seclusion,
the transient display of dreams
turns into lilting lyric of million steps
I walk to reach you,
setting free the captive heart
that quivers like the wasteland willow.
As the motif of my resolute essence
repudiates the reprisal of catharsis,
at the edge of your serenading fading shadow
I sense in the sanctum of my fossilized time
the sonata of silence.
Spring awaits its equinox of rebirth
where bluebells display a bed of blue haze,
vivid hues dazzle, delight, upon gaze,
nature cloaked in emerald’s green fresh earth
and I too wait …
Winter awaits its solstice of the sun -
nature rests in silhouettes against light
with season’s monotone palette in sight
that diminishes when nightfall’s begun
and I wait …
New year awaits, held breath, for chimes of time
saying farewell to old - embracing new,
dreams flutter, like confetti, to pursue
as I sit to ponder upon a rhyme
my heart and I still wait …
Alone, lonesome, am I with thoughts to muse
over many seasons that have so long past -
how have the years vapoured away so fast?
Am I at its mercy with all its ruse?
and yet, wait do I …
Cloaked in theatrical shadows on the
great stage of life where I play out my scenes
against the backdrop of changing screens
will I ever shine as the brightest star?
I still wait my heart and I …
I wait to be Romeo’s leading lady
and not a miscast as fate should dictate.
I wait to be someone’s queen not a pawn
when the flow of time is but a stalemate
and I wait, wait, wait …
(DJ NO BODY MESSIN’/ leaning into the mic, dim spot light hits the face) Creative force/ That’s the hum/
Eric 2BFREE, the tone poet, here to stay/ workin’ the room/ his spoken word jazzy thread starts on the rise with a bit of cool/
And what’s beyond his instrument of choice, his voice/
a reservoir of rhythm, a festival of ad-lib words/
a-side spinnin'/ born in area code 313/
his higher level climb, etched in his spoken word history, transcending time/ he did some time/ drinkin’ wine on Hollywood and Vine/
2BFREE is a legacy retro jazz spoken word poet man, a time travel brand/
house DJs slingin’ his spoken rhymes across the dance club land/
Eric 2BFREE, lifted higher, shown and proven true/ Jaws droppin' silence as his spoken word breaks through/fresh finna/ look it up It’s true/
rhyme on time/ scorching tempo/ a SoundCloud dream/ a Spotify sway/ House mix dance beats/ lofi funk on display/ drum samples strut/ a funky organ slow/2bfree a pantheon of spoken word speak/
As a stretched vocal whispers, where do rappers go? This ain't their scene/ this ain't their gig, a spoken word groove, eclipsing their light/
Negative life online, a pressure cooker's hiss/ too complicated, too hard to dismiss/
For some rappers, a crushing weight/ as for spoken word artists/they be feelin’ the hater's weight on FB and X bout keepin’ their brand alive and up to date/
While the rhythm of the spoken takes hold/no radio edit/ no auto tune here for Eric 2BFREE/
It took him 20 years to become an overnight success/
To free up his words/ a hip dialogue in innovations in cool jazz speak/
I don't want to cause alarm
But your causing me much harm
With your love that you display
Every night and every day
I'm getting tingles head to toe
When your tight hugs start a flow
Of spine chilling feelings
That have got me reeling
My hearts thumping out of beat
Knowing you make me complete
Ears hot from you whispering
Cute loving and funny things
My heads spinning from flashbacks
Memories oozing from brain cracks
Knees are very wobbly
When your standing next to me
Lips are burning with desire
Your kisses are full of fire
See the damage you have caused
Please don't ever let it pause
Poetry is watching the sail boats go drifting by
on Port Gardiner's Bay.
Poetry is the happy laughter of children playing
at Forrest Park
Poetry is free out door music concerts
at the Everett's Marina.
Poetry is watching free outdoor summer's
movies at Box car park
after dark.
Poetry is watching people walking family pets
at the Everett's Marina.
Poetry is watching harbor seals,
and the ducks. Not to mention,
our friendly neighborhood seagulls.
Poetry is the Schack's artistic Colby's Avenue's
walk. Seeing and watching
the local artisans at their trade.
Poetry is downtown Colby Avenue's antique
car show and display. Hearing local
Elvis Presley's imitator dancing
and singing our blues away.
Poetry is the Everett's Farmer's Markets.
Local singers perform, and the food vendors
are there. People are working at and
displaying their wears. On Colby Avenue and
adjacent streets.
Poetry is watching the 4th of July parade,
and fire works display at Legion's Park
after dark.
Poetry is the Forrest's park animal farm,
animals and chickens, pigs and goats
and horses too. Don't forget the
rabbits and other live stock too!
Love as always,
Roxanne Lea Dubarry
Roxy Lea 1954
Roxy 1954/ October Country
January 22, 2020
She has always had her way
But it seems even more so today
As every storm has now become the worst
It is like the entire atmosphere is ready to burst
As shorelines have so violently been erased
Some would say these happenings are bible based
For in all of mankind, man has never learned to listen, let alone follow
And so in Her unending reach, we can only sit here and wallow
She may be slow to reveal her hand
But for sure her display will be grand
Oh you needn’t try to stand in her way
Or this too could also be your last day
And now what is she brewing on our horizon
For with shades of black she covers over the sun
I guess it’s time to start preparing once again
For this one is going to be even worse than then
The outdoor flea market is where everyone goes.
It is a place to find great deals as anyone knows.
Each weekend for five months out of the year,
bargain hunters show up in droves here.
From early morning, through most of the day,
merchants at rented tables place their goods on display.
If you want to buy second-hand things or a fine antique,
there are good chances sellers have what you seek.
Local farmers come to sell their fresh produce.
Vendors sell food from hot dogs to orange juice.
Do you have something to sell? This is the place to be around.
If you have unwanted clutter on your home ground,
a buyer for your articles can often be found.
The flea market is a great place to spend a weekend.
All kinds of merchandise are bought and sold to no end.
Gathered my belongings and I burned them as an offering
to who I might one day become if I could let them go.
I knew this gesture could be seen as one more case of posturing
but I’d grown tired of who I was and all that status quo.
Wind was blowing, killed the flame, so I poured on more gasoline
and never gave a single thought that I, too, might be burned.
In my head it would be like what you’d see on the silver screen
where Karma only bites the ones whose lessons are not learned.
And the flames rose up
And the smoke blew away
Everything I had been
Only yesterday…
Sitting in a lawn chair with the green grass tickling my feet,
complacently I watched as my possessions turned to ash.
Imagining a better place, a house way up on Easy Street,
Where I could spend my lazy days just twirling my moustache.
Wind was growing, felt the heat so I moved my chair back a bit,
distancing myself from all the things that I’d thrown out.
Now short on accelerant , I packed away my arson kit.
Never felt so certain though down deep I still felt doubt.
And the flames all danced
In a weird display
That I would have feared
Only yesterday…
As the sun was setting all the embers started sputtering
and slowly growing colder in the evening Autumn air.
And I could feel my heart, like a butterfly was fluttering
looking for escape or just an answer to a prayer.
Wind was gently dying down. Packed the car, anticipating
moving on and moving up and reinventing me.
Red and orange, the glowing coals were still so oddly captivating,
so I stayed to witness the end of the mystery.
And the flames all died
Like an old cliché
That I might have said
Only yesterday…
"Signal! Raise the alarm bells,
For rebels sink below the swells!
Watchmen! Let the rebels know,
Sin creates the Undertow."
Against the Enemy's death throes,
The Justifier, winnows!
"I will shakedown your whole world,
And sin and shame will be hurled!"
Just then He got my attention,
Having lost my inhibition,
Never a fan of prohibition,
Never a feeling of contrition.
"The Tavern of the Nations,
Come, partake of My libations!
No resisting this temptation,
Exposing your condemnation!"
Many were stopping for a brew.
He handed me His drink menu,
Seven drink choices to review,
Irresistible, but nothing new.
"But there's seven of the same thing..."
"But all are fitting for a king
A sample of each I will bring,
All foaming cups with My zing."
A sharp but stimulating flavor,
Enjoyably exciting to savor.
Until...It bit me suddenly,
And slurred my speech drunkenly.
Foam hurled out of my mouth in shame.
The Lord's truth was not to blame.
"I've come to the end of my path,
This is the cup of the Lord's wrath!"
"My truth, or your consequences!
Because you hardened defenses,
You never came to your senses.
So, My recompense commences."
Jonah did not escape the Lord-
I, too, was hurled overboard.
As my life was ebbing away,
His truth was still on display.
I called out from my distress,
His grace afforded access.
His mercy that could be mine,
Appeared as Christ's Lifeline.
He pulled me from the raging sea,
Ordering the Enemy to set me free!
Salvation belongs to the Lord-
The payment we cannot afford.
"Signal! Raise your voice in praises!
Jesus' grace and love amazes!
Watchmen! Let the rebels know,
Salvation creates the Afterglow."
In this new century of our Lord
The gardener planted the young tree
Placed in garden of Gethsemane
An olive to the knee
Around two thousand years have passed
A beaten path close by
Each word the Olive tucks away
Within its heart with sighs
When Jesus was just a small boy
He would come some to play
His tender hand caressed its limbs
Alluring light display
Twenty-one years passed swiftly by
When He came once again
Deep in prayer to His Father
Then said a soft Amen
Most times He came to the garden
He touched my bark and roots
Once He cried tears with sweat of blood
Not heard by His recruits
A crowd of soldiers came for Him
They lead Him fast away
Out of my presence departed
In my heart ever stay
Some rumors that they crucified Him
Twisted my trunk and heart
My heart longs for His tender touch
He'll come to not depart
The disciples in great fear came
Whispering in great shame
Their leader lies in the cold tomb
His name being defamed
On Sunday morn the two Marys
By the olive tree came
Joyous excitement jubilation
Jesus lives~ proclaim
Written: April 01, 2015
A story written based on truth