Long Egyptian Poems
Long Egyptian Poems. Below are the most popular long Egyptian by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Egyptian poems by poem length and keyword.
Ok don’t laugh I’m serious about this
They say Ignorance is a double dose of bliss
I’m a novice at writing poetry and you can tell
I can only rhime and don’t care how a spell (Rhyme :-)
Anyway don’t laugh I say this again
Don’t laugh I tell you as I try to explain
Couplet- I thought this was six year olds that were married
Haiku - Those thing-a-ma-jigs a native American woman uses for the baby she carried
A Blank Verse - Well you guessed it, writer’s block
Eleggy - An elegant tall woman of upper class stock ( sorry Elegy)
Ghazal - Yes the antelope that roam the African plain
Epithalamium- something you need an operation for because it causes you pain
Carpe Diem – Must be the name of a Greek god
Canzone – An Egyptian three eyed, six legged dog
Well I could go on and on
I got it off my chest and admit I was wrong
The rest are explicit and sexual and need permission
I’m glad for poetry soups 51 types of poetry and their definition
Don’t laugh
My last Thursday class is over - my class-week is over.
Looking back at the science building we’d just left,
the hallway looked dark, like the throat of an animal,
the people snaked out like a tongue, the archway
seemed like a mouth - I shivered and looked away.
Lisa laughed, and my senses returned to reality.
The clouds on high, hung like fresh linens on a line
being dried by the sun in its Egyptian-blue heaven.
The air smelled rich, clean and ionized and ever
the inventive stylist, it periodically rearranged my hair.
Leaves rustled, sounding like a buzz of conversation,
as they rushed from place to place, as if late to class.
The breeze was working hard, in jerky flourishes,
like the strokes of an indecisive artist.
The afternoon seemed as bright and brash as a shout
as if it wanted, no demanded, our emotional attention
and I gave it, smilingly, ready for the weekend.
From a reddish horrifying gloomy cloud which brings upon a frowning
beast~ I shall overcome and finally a smile shall bring me peace—poet :)
Smiles are weapons against pain
Armor protection for depression or hate
Diffusers for an opponent’s attack
Antidotes of dopamine and cortisol
Smiling eyes are the windows to the soul
some say, yet smiles can be deceiving
A player uses his charm that sweeps you away
An enemies leer stirs unspoken innuendos,
mouth is smiling yet dead eyes defy
A ghoulish grin denies it's upside-down smile,
scornful cinnabar smears, spanning ‘cross the lips
from cheek-to-cheek as fingers paint
when tears deny a petulant pout
‘Tis what makes me frown
What makes me smile can be admired in;
Arts colorful paintings, ancient and new
Fashion Design, Egyptian hieroglyphics
Poetry, witty with a bit of whimsy
humorous Limericks with mindful tricks
Animals and a child's innocence
a baby’s giggle, a kitten’s purr,
a puppy’s warmth, a bird’s chirp
Musicals songs, Movies Rom-coms
Theatre recites, the Opera excites
Dances that mash up with Western music, high energy
fusion of styles global, multifaceted technique
Bolly-Hop, Disco-Funk, Tap! Is sheik
Music's nostalgia, classical is golden
Nature's moonshine, sunshine, a stolen starry night
Red bourbon rosette, blue violet, fragrance flowers
From land to Ocean, to the crystalline sapphire sea
Food and drink, Antipasto, mint Iced Tea,
Tapas and Sangria, Hors d’oeuvres and cognac
Finally and most of all what makes me smile?
Love of life, so free-spirited, it gives love back
I suppose,
as a pretentiously self-uberespecting Wise Elder,
I should be alpha-embarrassed to admit
my youngest son,
unable to speak or even sign,
unable to even successfully chew and swallow food,
unable to walk without warm-embraced assistance,
is also my guardian angel.
Without him
I would undoubtedly forget
each day and night
is a re-newing challenge
to laugh with others' screeching terrors
and shared miseries of sobbing tragedy,
to listen patiently,
maintaining eye contact as best you can,
as long as necessary,
appearing to actually be interested and following,
or, even better,
actually become totally immersed in hearing
resonance and dissonance and timbre,
resolution and irresolution,
rhythm and patterns of song and dancing relationship
and absence of healthy co-relationship,
all before we speak,
or squawk,
as in the case of my guardian angel,
Who also occasionally graces us with shared laughter
about how silly we all are together,
or how great the front porch breeze feels
up against the birdsong.
My nearly egoless zero-sum WinWin mentor,
my youngest sacred graced perfection son.
How would I ever have survived his sister,
who is my Egyptian Princess AlphaPharoah BiPolar *****,
in a kind of a Nubian DiPolar Witchy Wu-Wei,
if you know what I mean.
Kind of like living with a five-year-old Donald Trump
if he were also a fifteen-year-old transexual
with bipolar oppositional ***** disorder.
I just read that to my guardian angel.
He didn't think that was funny,
so I thought I would share it with you,
while he's still listening,
in his guardian angel graced way.
We each take only what we yang and yin need
and do our best to cooperatively re-invest
all of it,
including the ecopolitical ****.
I have seen the formation
Of ancient lands
I have seen the creation
By ancient hands
Pyramids
That soar to the sky
Here amid
Temples majestic and high
I have seen
Wonderful things
Tombs and scenes
Of ancient kings
I have seen huge blocks of stone
Cut by hand of flesh and bone
Fit in place for reasons known
To the architect alone
Each stone block from the quarry
Has a structure to help build
Each chisel cut tells a story
Of a mason’s guild
I have seen towering obelisks
With finely chiseled hieroglyphics
And ancient golden relics
Like toys in the attic
I have seen ancient mummies
The walking living dead
Take care or you’ll become these
Walking around instead
Dinner I have eaten
With pharaohs and kings by many names
And I have beaten
Them at their many games
I have sat on the temple steps
In the shadow of a large mastaba
I chatted with the great Amenhotep
And the gods Isis, Anubis, Thoth and Ra
They told me I could become a god
If I live and died in the manner of a king
I thought that was a little bit odd
For I came here wanting nothing
Tomorrow we go off to fight
The empire of Kadesh
If you come, you will see some sights
That you will never forget
I saw the battle of Kadesh
Now written about on the temple walls
I saw the battle in the flesh
Now celebrated in the temple halls
I watched the battle and from what I saw
Neither side won the war
From my standpoint the battle was a draw
But the Pharaoh will celebrate a win evermore
Pharaoh Ramses lived to the ripe old age of around ninety two
He outlived a lot of his hundred children and many wives
He’s remembered as Pharaoh Ramses the Great who
Built many monuments and revitalized the Egyptian’s lives
When they found Pharaoh Ramses the Great’s body
They found no silver or gold
Only the great king’s mummy
Thousands of years old
The archeologists all made a great noise
Where was all the silver and gold?
Where was all the old man’s toys?
That the grave robbers stole and sold
A lot of his stuff is still out there
In Egyptian antique stores
And Egyptian homes and country fairs
To get something you could spend a lot for sure
Nowadays Ramses is lying in state in the Cairo Museum
And men and women and girls and boys
All flock to the museum to see him
And Tutankhamen’s wonderful toys
Thanks to you all
Thanks to those who come to
poetrysoup.com, practise poems,
write, read and share poems
and comment on others
Thanks to those who read my
writings, do comments, follow
me, avoid my poems, block
and ban me from their list
Thanks to you all
I’ve no eternity here, all of me
from least to chest, best to edge,
sharpen blade of new paddy leaves
jeopardize my torn nib of ink
in the field of writings graph
Maybe I couldn’t write any word
for beauty and stunning young girl
in comprehension, in passion and
in my fashionable heart
Maybe I couldn’t write charming note
of flower’s petals, striking fragrance,
in my perpetuity lake of quills
Maybe I couldn’t draw the sexy body of
rose, lotus, tulip, sunflower, orchid,
lily, daffodil… etc in my vulnerable
reef of poetic expression
Maybe I couldn’t draw the colors magic
of rainbow in my infatuated fallen
soaked feathers with November rain
Maybe I couldn’t inscribe the nature
the cosmos, the solar system, the ocean,
the black hole, the space, the sky, the stars,
the planets, the galaxies, the meteors, the
gravitational power…etc in my slumbering
wings of writings
Maybe I couldn’t plant the meditational
tree into the pure heart of words, I couldn’t
select the seeds of immortality in my
ascetic madness and magma script
Maybe I couldn’t greet the autonomy flying
of Cockatiels, Parakeets, Canaries, Finches,
African Grey Parrots, Budgerigars, Cockatoos,
Conures, Macaws, Poicephalus…etc in my
unintelligible incarcerated language
Maybe I couldn’t hail the abode for Labrador,
Bulldog, German, Poodle, Beagle… etc and
Maine Coon, Egyptian Mau, American Bobtail,
Ragdoll…etc in my materialistic
harvesting terminology
Maybe I couldn’t sleep with power of poems,
dream to be a finest classic or modern poet
in my kingdom of pen, paper, ink, writing
table-chair and lamp
Notwithstanding all these, I thanks to those
who come here at least one time daily,
erratically and read, write, share own
thoughts and comment frankly
Thanks to you all a lot. Thanks and love you
all. From me always ready the rose without
thorns and love for you all, although you bleed
my heart by thorns stinging
-November 14, 2018 Chattogram
////
DEDICATED TO POETRYSOUP.COM and ALL POETS-POETESSES OF THIS ESTEEMED LITERARY SITE
A Gentleman´s Alexandria
His wife came into the living room looking sideways
she had brought cold beer and snacks.
She walked back to the kitchen where their four daughters sat.
This was a modern household; his wife wore no vail.
When we left the children had disappeared, just as well
I don´t know how to speak to the young ones.
My Egyptian friend took me to a nightclub, music and noise
not to forget belly dancers.
My friend soon left with one of them, and that was ok,
I had been his cover for a night out, and all bills were paid for.
Strange man, the shipping clerk, he had four daughters but no boys
and that made him sad.
Neanderthals and
Torajas
Buried the dead
With no cost...
Within
Cave-like holes
The dead did easily
Exhaust…
=====
===
Lying posture
Or standing
To a corpse
Does this matter...?
Does the dead know
Whether their souls fly
In airplane or
Helicopter…?
=====
===
Like Shahjahan
And Taj Mahal
Egyptian Monarchs
Built Pyramids
Tax of the poor
And their labour
Were flown like river
Monarchs, yet, are never culprits…!
=====
===
Whether kings die
Or queens
Doesn't the burden go
On common-man...?
History always isn't
Cradle and swing
As we proclaim
As romantically as we can...!
03 October 2022
(Me slippery fingers slither,
slip and slide splashing ala
Jackson Pollock), sans slap
dash experimental, swiftly
tailored and harried writing
style, yes on par with purging,
spewing, venting...unexpurgated,
unexpressed, unexplained...
words, which this Engelbert
Humperdinck singer/songwriter,
(whose name inexplicably popped
into the mind of this Dadaist)
offers "FAKE" apology for any
self inflicted, or sadomasochistic
flagellated cranial contusions
out of utter futility to make sense
regarding following gobbledygook!
GOOD LUCK!
Mine groovy palmar flexion creases
forever moistened by porous size
damn leaking levees provoking deluge
outranking Biblical flood - handy history
(in miniature) replete with Ark keel
logical artifacts discovered by hall n
oats marked wainwright - about 10 stone and
5 pound huckster, circa Fin de siècle,
when callous ten hooks (calisthenics,
eh) caught without Noah shadow of a
doubt proof positive by Matthew Scott,
(amat sure his surname) linkedin to storied
testament rivalling epic of Gilgamesh,
nee the entire spoilers alerts since
dawn of civilization writ small impossible
mission to decipher indelibly etched,
(what appear as Egyptian hieroglyphics),
methinks his perspiration contains
preservative agent, (a natural formaldehyde
like substance) generated nsync to maintain
eternal youthfulness, which stumps
medical community, and earned him
hashtagged "hotmail" (eagerly sought
after human commodity), a blessing
and curse palms plagued with chronic
wetness, yet lines (little flushed streams
of consciousness) rowed by itty bitty
teensy weensy merry daydreamers harkens
back when life held faint promise for
scattered (contra) bands of bipedal
hominids fiercely competing with trumpeting
(Taj Mahal sized) beasts (donned tousled
windswept hirsute trademark) Euclid
heir'm barreling along barren steppes
all around the one straggly mulberry bush,
where one pensive monkey (protohuman)
chased the weasel all around the world wide web.
All I need is sixty minutes with you to make my long-awaited dreams come true. All I need is sixty minutes with you for this one in a lifetime interview; all I need is sixty minutes with you to get that long awaited break-through. I am standing on the crossroads of time reflecting on the things that are on my mind, the path seems clear, but I don’t know what awaits me there. I must be as careful as can be if I want to cross the red sea. I am not Moses, Aron or the Egyptian; I am just a simple woman with the heart of loving and giving. I love the big stage, the orchestra, the ballroom, the costume and the flamboyant makeup and everything that is loaded on the bus, but all I want tis sixty minutes with you to rebuild my career and keep my show on the air. Things are getting harder and the road to success has many obstacles and challenges to get there. This environment is draining my energy, and I am not happy here. I am talented and I have skills and I kept hearing the “drill”. Just sixty minutes with you will turn things around and clear the path for five hundred billion pounds. I am drifting, drifting with the wind and I can hear my voice whistling in the wind, I often hear your voice, and I can hear your spirit cries, but sixty minutes with you would open the door and bring more investment on the shore. I want to call you, but I don’t have your number, I want to email you, but I don’t have your email address, so it is difficult to communicate with you. Each time the season change you end the game, but I find myself in the same place and my life is still the same. All I need is just sixty minutes with you, and the courage to look you in the eyes to tell you that my soul is still alive, and I live my own truth from I was a youth. I never dance to others music when there is no melody or rhythm; I never sing a song that I cannot sing. Just sixty minutes with you will change the game and give me the courage to move forward again in a new place with a new name.