Long Dynamics Poems
Long Dynamics Poems. Below are the most popular long Dynamics by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dynamics poems by poem length and keyword.
Oh, Christmas, what can I say to you this year
Over the years, you have taken me on a journey
I never wanted you to be a craze, but something real to me
I have searched for you in all of the dynamics of the season, just wanting a true meaning in my life and heart.
Oh, Christmas I have wrestled and wrestled with you,
year after year and season after season.
You are such a mystery to me, still.
I want to grieve for my father, but you give me Joy
I want to to be bitter, empty, angry, and left alone
but you give me the freedom and opportunity to love, give, and celebrate
I want to hide my pain, and cover my wounds
but you reveal my healings.
Thank you for the light in my heart after so much darkness
I have learned only this, Christmas is a feeling!!!!
// This is my tribute to the many blessings that music brings to our
lives. I know many of you share this enthusiasm and gratitude. //
Appreciating an amazing artform: allegro, andante, or adagio -
Bach, Beethoven, Brahms: beautiful berceuse, ballad, and bolero
Classical concertos and Christmas chorales crescendo concordantly
Dancers delight to dizzying drums and delectable dynamics
Ensemble eloquently emotes euphonic etudes and elegies
Flautist fluttertongues flute in frenzied fantasia or fantastic fugue
Guitar gallivants through gavotte, graced by glockenspiel glissandos
Heavenly hymns, happily harmonized, hearkening hearty hallelujahs
Improvising instruments inspiring in impromptu inventions,
Jovial jazz juxtaposition of jubilant, jamming jitterbugs
Kalimba keeps count as keyboardist kinetically caresses keys
Love song lullabys - lilting, legato lines of luxuriant, longing lyrics
Minuet melodies and madrigals marking mellifluous motifs
Nutcracker's necklace of nourishing notes: a nighttime nocturne
Orchestra's opulent overture opus, oratorio's operatic octet
Pianist plays presto pianissimo pitches in pulsing pizzicato perfection
Quartets and quintets on a quest for quality quiescent quarter notes
Romantic rhapsody rhythms resonate as rock 'n roll reverberates
Symphonies and sonatas send spine shivers, saxophone solos soar
Tenor troubadours tremolo in tempo as trumpet thrills with trills
Utopia of unassuming ukuleles unwinding in unison
Voluptuous violin vibrato, virtuoso vocalist, vivace vintage vibraphone
Well-tempered woodwinds wield wonderful waltzes worth whistling
Xylophone eXudes eXcitement in eXquisite eXtemporaneity
Yearning for youthfulness, you yodel "Yesterday"
Zesty zither anyone?
In the cosmic dance,
where stars collide,
Galaxies spiral,
and planets ride.
Saturn’s rings shimmer,
Jupiter’s dim,
Moons circle round,
a celestial hymn.
From quasars’ crescendo to pulsars’ beat
Cycles in cycles take form and retreat
Superstrings vibrate,
harmonies entwine,
From dust comes life,
Is there a design?
Supernovae explode,
Notes of awe,
Dust fields condense
To a nebula claw.
Mass bends space
Took Einstein to learn
But space guides mass
Both take their turn.
From quarks to quasars,
Our scale in between,
We know we exist,
but what does it mean?
Personality traits combine to make you
Like notes combine to make melodies ring true.
Can you hold the tune through the rise and fall?
Through the noise and the smoke, can you stand tall?
This poem you read now,
complex inside your brain
simultaneous patterns
a disciplined flame.
Minds model dynamics,
Our neurons fire,
a strange attractor
assembling a choir.
Our genes express patterns, recursively repeat
Make diagnostic music, a remarkable feat
if cancer lurks, the music hits a false chord,
And tunes affect gene expression, a joke by the Lord.
Between order and chaos,
Our thoughts arise
Each man a universe
Don't waste the lives.
Will the universe end, entropy reign,
Shall all come to naught, in silence remain?
A stacked game, no way to win
Nothing left, no judge of virtue or sin?
When all flattens out, was it worth all the scheming?
Was sound at the end more important than meaning?
Maybe all you can do,
before that final hush,
is take life in both hands,
don't think too much, feel the rush.
imagist fragments
rhythmical effects of
virtuous wordplay
of singular soundplay
phenomena
in linguistic tracts
occurrences in the vernacular
disfunctions,interpolations
from the poetic heart
repetitions
stereotypical
transcribed in a whirlwing of verse
virtuosity intensified
heightened &focussed
sensitively sounded
envisioned
authentic perceptions
made manifest
initiated in discourse
conceived in patterns of dialogue
inherent dynamics
extraordinary in breadth
lengthened beyond
lexical limits
fashioned to facilitate
enrich&endow
the unfamiliar introduced, then
interpreted becoming conjectural
unexpected metaphors of
the observed natural
panorama
the spectacular articulated
with inventiveness
surpassing the everyday
rhythmic interplay
Looking at the view from the window,
I watch the cars as they pass on buy
The street lamps give a distant glow
Now brightening the darkened sky
Looking at the view from the outside
It has a whole different perspective
Especially if looking from the inside
Things they seem like their reflected
Looking at a view but way out of focus
I ask myself what it is I'm now seeing
Making up my own style of barnacles
But though looks they can be deceiving
A view from a completely different angle
Now that changes the whole dynamics
Different shapes, a square or a triangle
But I don't know much about physics
Iideas from others I wrote like sights and sounds
Idea came from seasons and ghost town poems I wrote
probably makes no sense but like I said in my dys of colour poem
the way my thoughts are made WRITTEN BY MYSELF DAVIDSCOTT FEB MARCH 2013
wishing round in my head while think of other things at time maybe reedit in future
im still working on something else called rems
Without my pen, the pain becomes my voice.
The cruelty of others, the hardness of their hearts,
Linger in this place of cult,
Where public shaming is currency.
I scream for help, face to face,
Yet they cast me deeper into despair.
Tears bleed red, patience drains,
My heart trembles, a silent echo in the vast universe.
My eyes never dry, my body weakens,
Heart torn apart, full of anguish,
Yet no one feels the depth within;
They mistrust the plea for help.
This is my story, my life—
Manipulated by whispers,
By cults hiding in plain sight.
Insecurity among them breeds cruelty.
They lurk at corners, ready to strike.
I called for help. He laughed: "You're funny."
How can real danger ever sound like a joke?
This is the world's cruel reality:
Where chasing money and shifting blame
Leave no space for help.
And still—I believe, somewhere, somehow,
kindness awaits—
like a single candle glimmering
in the heart of the void.
The folly of a young man
Lost opportunities, lost moments
I have such a Beautiful Daughter, her name is Gail.
As her father, I was not there, miserably I did fail.
At ten, I left her in the clutches of anger and hate.
This I did, as her father, left her to the hands of fate.
A cruel thing I did to her childhood, to her coming years.
Little did I provide for her psychic growth, are my fears
as I left her alone, heartbroken, feeling deserted, in tears.
My actions offered little hope for her growth it appears.
Family dynamics, no connection with my biological mother,
little with my father, he could hardly find the time to bother
Then there was much the same for my biological brother.
Unlike my many other siblings, he was like no other.
Lucky was I, for my paternal Grandparents chose to be,
Even though far too old, they took the reins and raised me.
I have but few regrets, one that pervasively stands out,
the pain and heartache I caused those who loved without
strings, without chains, yet from me, received so little in return.
I have been preparing, as the day draws nigh, to burn
away all my transgressions and with my ashes, left in my urn,
the home I made for my final resting place, lessons did I learn
before my transition, my journey, as dust, into the next dimension.
This life, on this plane has permeated with little comprehension’
B. J. “A” 2
April 30th 2024
John Keats - I continue to adore Keats's lush, sensuous language and his odes to beauty, nature, and love, which can deeply resonate with some of my own poetry's yearning and delicacy.
Emily Dickinson - Dickinson's quiet intensity and exploration of death, eternity, and inner life has appeal to my introspective side.
She and I share a fierce independence of spirit and a love for solitude.
Edna St. Vincent Millay - I admire Millay's bold, feminist voice and her exploration of desire and independence.
Millay's mastery of sonnet form and ability to capture the fleetingness of passion has after multiple readings come to resonate with me.
Pablo Neruda - Known for his passionate love poems and deep connection to nature, Neruda has come to enchant me with his visceral imagery and emotional honesty.
His poems about the natural world might feel like kin ship to me, my own.
Mary Oliver - I feel at home in Oliver's reflective, nature-based poetry.
I have come to love Oliver's reverence for the world, finding in it a continuation of her own themes of beauty and spiritual communion with nature.
Sylvia Plath - I would definitely appreciate Plath's courage in delving into the complexities of self, identity, and mental struggle.
While my tone of poetry has now through evolution grown more gentler, I feel a kinship in Plath's exploration of one's inner life.
Rainer Maria Rilke - With his mystical tone and contemplative exploration of love and solitude, Rilke would be a poet that I have come to admire.
His 'Letters to a Young Poet' would also resonate as advice one might give to aspiring poets.
Louise Glück - Known for her somber tone and introspective lyricism, Glück would fascinate me with her exploration of loss, longing, and family dynamics.
I admire Glück's precision and haunting imagery.
Langston Hughes - I would appreciate Hughes's musicality, social consciousness, and exploration of personal and collective identity.
His poems on love, hope, and perseverance would feel to me like hymns of survival and resilience.
Ada Limón - I would likely be drawn to Limón's modern voice and her intimate, conversational style that draws readers into an emotional landscape. Limón's poems of self-acceptance, connection to nature, and resilience would feel like a refreshing evolution of the lyricism that I have come to cherish.
With my emotions varying like tremelo this morning,
I reach for my life companion
that has been with me since I was eight years old
while not physically the same one,
it is the one that serves me currently
Preparation doesn’t take long
Opening the case, I breathe in the
familar scent of the instrument that I love,
Wiping away the specks of rosin that cling
and applying new rosin to the bow hair
Where shall I go today?
Into the pages of the hymnal where
people for centuries have displayed
their love and awe of God?
Or into the complicated melodies and rhythms of
composers who are still revered today
because they left behind so many masterpieces
perhaps into the catchy tune of a new song I heard recently?
I have many choices, yet today the ache in my being
requires that I dig deep into comfort
to soothe my emotions and soul
so I leap toward an old favorite that is ingrained
so deep that actual music is not necessary
because it is engraved deep in my heart and brain
My whole body sighs when I play
and that part of me that only music
can touch leaps to life and sparks
the parts of me that need to be fed regularly
faith, optimism, root of all being, kindness
so many things in my life have their root in music
Moving on to the piece that I first conquered as a teen,
it is so different playing it at my current age
my fingers aren’t as nimble,
my hearing has deteriorated with passing years and bad genes
but my mind remembers which notes to play
until the difficulty of the piece requires that I stop and
work out the complicated pattern of notes
that doesn’t feel right, so I try again
Ah yes, that is it. Oops, wrong dynamics
I try again. Better but not there yet
I realize that I am tired and look at the clock
more time has passed than I realize
and the fatigue that comes with exertion finally
registers as I put my old friend away
until another time
smiling, I know we will meet again
soon, because I have a need
that can only be met
with the magic touch of my violin
Twenty one Earth orbitz ago...
February fourth two thousand and twenty...
Shana Aubrey Harris
HAPPY BIRTHDAY GREETING,
albeit eleven days early
Countless years after papa
took thee and Eden
to favorite outing namely five below
other go to places included
Target, Old Navy, Chipotle,
and Santa Fe Burrito
four other bricks and
mortar sites thee dough
ting dada availed himself
ah... memories still echo
with sentimental emotions that flow
despite blur of intervening years
geesh...,how quickly ye did grow
already now high ho high ho
off to work and/or school ye go
still at times, I get teary eyed
sniffle... sniffle... sniffle
think drama and Shakespeare's Iago
analogous emotional family tension
my humblest apologies,
I may not really know
if high dudgeon ye felt toward me
opprobrious indiscretions
shenanigans (mine) generic Joe
cur overstepped bounds of decency,
whereat family dynamics attained little low
coe motion unfairly inflicting mo'
harm than good on innocent lass
forced to weather no
peace of mind, especially when living
at 1148 Greentree Lane - oh
when battle axe and henchmen
demanded we move
(reed get evicted) pronto
Harris family crisis took kamikaze nosedive
in one direction,
now I strive for status quo
and love how lee thee row... row... row
your boat gently down the stream.