Long Duplicated Poems
Long Duplicated Poems. Below are the most popular long Duplicated by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Duplicated poems by poem length and keyword.
Child-like enthusiasm at Christmas time is not easily duplicated.
Hearty laughter surrounds a family reminiscing about other Christmases.
Rich pastries, cookies and candy only found once a year decorate a table.
Imaginative glimpses of future Christmases are in the forefront of newlyweds
Santa Claus cannot overshadow The Son in the homes of the reverent
There are Christmas headbands, sweatshirts, necklaces and earrings bringing joy
Many people are working to bring cheer to the needy, sick and homeless
Angels decorate Christmas trees and church pageants on both hemispheres
Sharing and caring in a Good Samaritan way make this week truly special
It's often shamed and mocked
But quietly behind the veil, it's jocked
It can't be duplicated
But oh, too often it's imitated
One may venture to say it's exclusive
Yes, a super Blue Moon at night
The outside can be intrusive
So guard it with all your might
Rare! So rare is the salient vigor you possess
Deep inside, it lived before you took the first suckle
from your mother's breast
From within it begins and like the Great Mississippi, it
never ends
Flowing, rushing, moving, and going is the inner G that
continues even as it bends
But make sure not to be dammed by external forces
There are vampires, leeches, and witches in search of
virile sources
From the divine, you were gifted
Remember this when you're down so you can get lifted
Your inner G, you behold
Protect it and let your truth be told
Your inner G you must project
Walk in self-confidence and self-respect
This inner G is yours
Use it divinely and complete your earthly chores
Grandma's vanilla cake with brown sugar topping cannot be duplicated.
My sister and I used to help her bake it for the holidays
Not only was it moist and sweet and tasty,
but the smell is something I dream about.
I salivate in my sleep thinking of this heavenly cake;
it was Grandma’s specialty.
In November of 1964, Grandma died suddenly in her sleep.
She was only fifty-eight.
It was a shock to all of us;
Christmas was not the same.
Life was not the same.
Some of her daughters tried to bake Grandma's vanilla cake with brown sugar topping.
She must have left out an ingredient, they thought.
They used to fight over which ingredient that might be.
They never got it right.
For fifty years they have been trying to recreate Grandma’s vanilla cake.
With little success.
Because it is missing an ingredient.
It is missing Grandma.
Mother would patschke
early that day in the kitchen,
and recruit any guest, who
blindly ambled thru front door
suddenly trapped unwittingly
squarely (triangulated) into kitchen
forcibly impressed to help
set up buffet tables
and/or given carte blanche to prepare
some mysterious dish,
(a hodgepodge of ingredients),
that suffered no shortages of compliments
unfortunately could never be duplicated.
Guests harkened far and wide
word of mouth boastful rantings and ravings
superseded culinary Michelin Guides
to dole out seven stars,
which wordsworth meant "exceptional cuisine
promised hungry visitor
a special satisfactory journey."
"Time to eat" (usually bellowed courtesy father)
generated an orderly stampede to jostle in line
and commence maximizing capacity
testing sturdiness disposable plates could hold
scouting, shoe horning, staking...
place to become comfortably numb with satiation.
Amidst various and sundry masticating jaws
(with each respective mouthful
of food glorious food -
cue said Oliver Twist song title)
followed by draught of spirits
ejaculations of delight issued,
and punctuated the sound of silence
when not additionally interrupted
courtesy sibilant crackling
popping, and snapping
wood burning stove,
which aforementioned heat source
lulled well fed tummies
whereby heavy eyelids drooped
while heads sank into chest.
No matter hunger pangs quieted
evidenced by casserole, glass, pyrex...
scraped clean rumors heralding dessert
quickly awoke wine weary souls
analogous to sluggish animals
awakening out their hibernation,
when self anointed maître d'
showcased good n plenti desserts
(pies, ice cream, cookies and cakes galore)
she made house special
comprising secret ingredients.
Upon being stuffed to the hilt
(dear kith and kin mother
all counted as family
think taxidermist specimen
readied for mounting)
all pledged a unanimous
New year's resolution
vouchsafed to start on diet
come January first.
David Bowie hears his own music, so he designs his own clothes.
An artist, they say in awe, giving him a wide berth.
He cannot be duplicated, but can any of us? I stare at his beauty.
Sure he is handsome, but something more.
There is a magnificence about him that is not easy to see.
He sparkles like his own sun. He could be nude.
He would still shine like this, because he cannot help himself.
The shoes polish off his outfit so well; who does that?
I watch him walk through a sea of other beautiful people.
They give him a bit of extra room, because he is who he is.
Their awe and respect is hidden in no way, magnificently showing.
I want to be him someday. But when? Is it already too late?
I held a memory in my arms
one night, not long ago,
how strong was she,
how weak was I;
the rush of past love
ran through my veins,
the flood of pain
ran through my heart,
this feeling, this confusing feeling
I held tightly with closed eyes.
Suddenly, I wasn't me,
I was him.
Yes, I was him!
A young man, no, a boy,
not knowing how to love,
faking my way through it all,
seeing her face with closed eyes,
feeling the years with closed arms,
I didn't want to let go now,
I never wanted to let go then,
the embrace of a thousand lifetimes,
the tears of a million years,
I had to let go,
I had to unlock my grip,
I needed to open my eyes;
once again, she was gone,
but the person was still there,
she was standing in front of me.
A memory locked away
suddenly spewed forth by another;
A clone? A reincarnation?
Not possible, not likely.
Another who touched deep inside me,
a heart connecting to a soul,
a life giving life back
to a weary traveler in time,
an embrace, a simple human act
gave motion to a body at rest;
that feeling, never ever duplicated
finally awakened from its prison,
the embrace of old in totally new,
the heart of one touching
the broken soul of another,
connecting with that one long embrace.
"the unwritten note"
not so far in the distant past standing face to face
you asked me if I wanted you to write me a note
it escapes me why I froze without a reply in place
wishing upon stars that moment happen once more
for you for me for us as a treasure to forever keep
words with meaning to make any heart or soul soar
when thinking of the unwritten note to this very day
how true it is the heartbeat and expression are lost
I often wonder so what the unwritten note had to say
a whisper never to be duplicated in the same flair
gone is that thought and feeling inside your mind
may we celebrate the moment that sparked this affair
SkyWatcher
08-18-22
~Glenn Miller~
(acrostic)
G-lenn Miller, his music is so wonderfully sublime, enchanting.
L-istening to his "Moonlight Serenade" makes me think of love so tender.
E-ndless joy, in my heart, his music always brings to me. His given
N-ame was, Alton Glenn Miller. He was born in Clarinda, Iowa, U.S.
N-otoriously, performed the trombone.His Glenn Miller Orchestra is divine.
M-usician, arranger, composer, and great band leader in the swing era.
I-n The Mood", is onother one of my favorite music pieces of his to this day.
L-ittle Brown Jug" "American Patrol" "Tuxedo Junction" and so many more, his
L-egacy is filled of of so much dancing and romance under a moonlit and stars.
E-ntertaining the troops was something very close to his heart. Glenn Miller,
R-emains one of the most famous and recognizable names of the big band era.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2015
July.22.2016
Author's notes:
My humble poem tribute to one of the greatest and most
unique bandleaders of the big band era, Glenn Miller.
One of my very favorite band leaders I personally
love and enjoy hearing the most.I listen to his music
for many years now.And I believe that theres no one like him,
his music can never be duplicated by anyone.
His beautiful music just transcends time and space, forever.
(Born March 1, 1904- Missing December 15,1944)
Years active 1923-1944
In 2003 Miller, received a Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award.
His plane dissapeared while flying over the English Channel.
His remains and that of his crew has never been found.
Miller's status is missing in action up to this date.
Long live the King of Swing!
Natural landscapes embrace the small town Crickhowell,
Comforted in a lush cocooned valley.
The Black Mountains that stretch for an eternity,
And casting of high shadows for an early retirement.
Beauty that will never be duplicated.
Singing rivers run wild through this place,
A calm melody of the Usk in the mist of the morning,
To a raging bull as it approaches a water fall in Tal-Y-Bont.
Power of a world that is unable to convince with words.
Diverse landscapes capture the essence of your heart
As you travel from deep plentiful woods in the Beacons,
Then imagine the most beautiful shoreline ever seen.
Long sandy beaches of Tenby to the cliffs of Landwit Major.
You stare at yourself as you gaze out to sea.
The breeze that touches your face is like a kiss of passion,
A paradise purpose built by Earth for all to see.
History and knowledge owned by its people from the Rhondda,
The true wealth of community still runs free here.
Born are the stars that have extreme influence on the world,
This by all counts is not a coincidence.
A true asset to the World, Wales.
It's the latest intellectual thing; it's in vogue
To dare to say it doesn't make you a rogue
You can let people know that experts can show
That we are just two-legged animals: It's so!
Between us are no unbridgeable separations
We are merely advanced animal mutations
Our music no better than a Thai elephant's clanging
Our language duplicated by an ape on a keyboard banging
So, I'm terribly sorry to be behind the times here
But I find all of this to be unutterably *****
For to me it is the height of laughable misinformation
To try to conceive of an animal with a human's imagination