Long Expressions Poems
Long Expressions Poems. Below are the most popular long Expressions by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Expressions poems by poem length and keyword.
Night grows silent, nary a sound
The best time to write, I have found,
to compose poetic impressions.
Pages in leather tomes, they're bound.
Lines of repentant expressions,
attesting to indiscretions
and the sorrow they did impart.
Each verse filled with my confessions.
Nib of my pen hurled as a dart
at its target, my wounded heart.
With self-inflicted pain it bleeds
Torn into pieces, ripped apart.
Repentant for the loathsome deeds,
the temptation of fleshly needs.
I beg forgiveness for my sin.
My poetry sorely concedes.
There is no other grief akin
to the ache I feel deep within.
If there's a way to right my wrong,
please tell me. How do I begin?
May 26th, 2022
Rubaiyat Contest
Sponsor: Sotto Poet
798.
Ang Alamat ng May Nanalo Na
Bakit at paano nga ba
Na ang tawag sa
Kanilang ayaw mag-protesta
Na natalo ay “May Nanalo Na”
Bawal RAO magreklamo
Dahil “Finish Na” ang laRO
Kanila ang Ginto
May bacon pang sobrang luto
Ao! Aw! May sumigaw ng “Ihaw”
Katayin RAo asong nakabubulahaw
Barking on the wrong tree RAo kc
Biting RAo the hand of Mineral Mommy
Para raw si Mojo Jojo ng Puff City
Overcooked daw ang Nognog ng Makati
Dahil kinagat din ang Liberal
Tama lang na Dina magtagal
Kaya karaka-RAka, binuo si MiJo…
Inspired by Miriam Hall kung saang nagluto…
And also VP Jojo na ininsulto
Ito ang multo ng pang-TWO sa pwesto!
Cge sbi pa ng: “Push mo yan, teh!”
Umasa… Nasaktan… Nagbig-BAE!...
Macho-gwapito migo ni Jose…
Kaya react nila: “Wag kang pabeBE!”
Wag kaung mag-alala sa Birheng Lola
Matakot kayo sa kanyang Valedora
SAF44 at Warriors F4... ipaghihiganti
Sa pagpatak ng Countdown to thirty!
-07/29/2020
(Dumarao)
*Alamat ng Kanilang Mga Expressions
Contest: The Pensive Poet
Sponsor: Constance La France
"While pensive poets painful vigils keep,
Sleepless themselves, to give their readers sleep"
~ Alexander Pope
They call her a "pensive poet",
She sits there lost in thought,
Her wistful silence does show it,
How with worries she's fraught;
When she sits beside that window
With a forgotten drink,
They know she'll soon be in limbo,
Time to think, time to ink;
She sits there writing and writing,
Pages are shortly filled,
With her Muse and words, she's fighting,
Her notions are soon quilled;
Her mind is constantly running,
At night, sleep eludes her,
Metaphors, rhyming and punning,
These are what makes her stir;
She gives voice to her painful past,
Her poems hold her tears,
The silent wisdom she's amassed,
All penned down o'er the years;
Reclusive, she prefers echoes
from the past she's fighting,
She pens of Edenic meadows,
Or grief unexciting;
Pondering over her gone life,
She writes of her deep faith,
Her memories linger through strife,
Her musings like a wraith;
One with Nature, she's always calm,
Writing her cares away,
Inking poetry is her balm,
Keeps her alive each day;
Inscribing her deep impressions,
She sits there in Zen mode,
Her verses are her expressions,
Where her emotion's sowed;
Ruminating in solitude,
She composes her dreams,
She's in "the Pensive Poet" mood,
The "Maiden of Moonbeams".
~WOUNDED~
Please forgive me...
Sometimes th' hardships of life,devour Th' Lamb within
Strife n' cares of this world,often render me carnal
Pain and past failures,exhume hideous expressions of hate
Animosity it seems,pacifieth these insurrections too surely
Pardons are non~existant,in these upheavals of melancholy
The abandonings of my love,leaves my soul segregatious
Reckoning runs rampant,for seek of repression's remedy
For an cure for this curse,I long for th' day's dawning
My friends and lovers of fair,I beg your patience for my burdening
In th' finest moment in time,I hope we share bluest skies
For all hearts' desires granted,I would lay myself to rest
Even ones who loathe me,I would not allow their seclusion
If my truest of spirit and flesh,attain symmetry harmon'd...
You will see expressly how precious,you are to my delight'ng
But so many wounds exist,of battles long 'fore fought...
It is of a truth I am,from them all...dying
~AZAZA~'09
Resistance is futile
I heard it once said
Everything that is living
one day will be dead
It may seem depressing
Yet that isn’t true
Resistance will meet you
in everything you do
Music is one example
notes played fast or slow
Vibrational expressions
strings resisting a bow
Resistance in your life
can cause your spirit to rise
If you exert proper effort
one day you’ll be wise
Learn to be water
It does not wish to resist
Yet it can wear down mountains
or float like silvered mist
Resistance builds strength
but will claim it back one day
So enjoy it’s many gifts
as you go along your way
You must admit,
each of us has looked back in time
reminisced about the past and all its happenings that now unwind,
the ifs, ands, buts
of how we got here to today's cascadings
upon this stage of life's long paradings,
intent and close with smile or tears of the circumstances
bound in the cycles of seasons and years dancing;
this is the look back that brings us forward to this now
the would have, could have, should have of how.
Those who knew my story,
had sad faces and sorry expressions
after all, I was born unwanted with little doubt or question,
abandoned by both father and mother
what possible promises were left to be kept or discovered,
too old to be adopted,
foster care did not await
grandmother came to retrieve my heart
allowing body and soul to escape,
she would raise this child duty-bound but safe.
There seemed no other choice,
at four I had no voice
this would be the path taken
past possibilities forsaken
only grandmother's and child's heart would be
silent questioning and prayers in the weaving tapestry.
This was the secret of my existence and arrival
meant to be never spoken of, for survival,
but as I grew,
I always wondered why
the method of the madness in my life slides,
the anger and resentment
that I was unwanted
left my imaginings haunted
but as I learned, observed and listened,
the path was well-guided, wisely provided;
alternate realities of my teenage and future years
produced a life lived well with laughter and tears,
no regrets, just a look back at how it was,
quiet acceptance,
of how I got to here.
For Crystal Woods contest, Hindsight 20 20
in retrospect, looking back and looking forward - we are all who we were meant to be.
I'm a wordsmith
Painting feelings with syllables and expressions
Vowels first and adjectives later
On the tip of my brush you will find no verbs
There is no action in these words I write
Technical pillars of this poetic religion
And I believe you know I do not mean them
But that doesn't mean I am lying
For I paint feelings to put in the walls of my gallery
And there is no practical to a feeling
For how else can you explain passion if not with words?
You cannot do happiness
Cannot visit love
It is the touch of feeling that makes the heart and the skin sing a melody that your lips do not know the lyrics to
It is a complex model
Only to be experienced on personal heights
Touch for touch
Smile for smile
Tear for tear
And like good cheese a good feeling is,
When you taste it,you just know.
Take everything not my writing, amputate my joints, fracture my body but please not my mind, it is in my mind where I live, with no rules, no fear nor regrets, its in my writing where I mind only my own, where I choose to only hear my voice, its in my writing where only I matters, not the world not humans but I,
take me instead not my writing, shut my eyes, capture my soul but lay not a hand to my mind, these eyes that God gave to men are no less to what this mind of mine allows me to explore, I fear how useless these eyes are when its only pain and disappointment they continuously take in, seeing only here and now, limiting men to greatness of life,
in this mind, windows stays open, possibilities competes, time limits none and nothing is limited. The versatility, the capabilities and the infiniteness, my mind it's a galaxy by its own, please don't take this life inside my skull, instead take me,
Launch in your best ammunitions and put a bullet to my brain while I led idle my writing abilities, for its writing I live for, the voice in my ink, the eyes in my expressions, it is the complexities in my writing that sets this mind of mind distinct,
I hear you complain of meaning and understanding, coherence and clarity but my flow so projected at flowing, I fear it part the sea while you still waiting, said in my own words that I'm expressionist, but I forgot to tell you that I'm not an explainer,
sorry to leave your egos bruised, art has no boundaries to fear, so is my painting brush, lemme change my poetic ink cartridge, for the flow still yet to flow afar off and beyond, poetic ink is my name, I am poetry
#Poetic_Ink
Black-and-white or colour taken...
Photographs of which awaken
A thousand words, dispelling...
Prominence out of their telling.
Faces of such presentation...
Still expressions, preservation.
Stature, posture, embrace - whether
In solitude or together.
Times of past presence revealing
Emotions in all of their feeling.
Never-ending of a story...
Moments captured in their glory.
Forever young and over the hill...
Albums they create and fill.
Positives displayed physically...
Permanence for the world to see.
Also framed to show and tell...
The good, the bad, ugly as well.
Perched and hanging upon their wall...
Atop their shelves, within their hall.
Some a reminder of history...
Others surrounded by mystery.
Whether they are dull or sublime...
Each of a certain point in time.
Images taken with a phone...
Selfies together or alone.
Digital and pixellated...
Resolution demonstrated.
High definition - yes or no?
Can you alter an image so?
Special effects casting a stone
For snapshot edits in their zone.
Physical or on the phone...
Portrayal of all that is shown.
Captured in a camera's vision...
Magic moments of decision.
Picture this now, if you please.
The camera holds the keys... of these,
Unlocking you's and me's and we's.
So three, and two, and one - say cheese!
Everybody needed something,
and there was always something in the world that needed somebody,
debt is all about connections to affections,
sustenence to stimulus is only half of the formula,
igniting the impetus is provenance of the pursuit,
debt's birth is in the body of temptation,
in the language of lust,
we all find reasons for indebtedness as architects provide strengths for stones,
always a tune to toil for,innumerable impulses to imbibe in the heart's hollows,
needs & wants wants & needs,a crisscrossing of the conscious,
vacillation like breath on candle flame,
on which branch will your bird discover the berry,
what good is satisfying the basics if we are denied exploration of the scenics,
wonderment wrapped in wishes of mocking mortality,
robes of rose petals,
the less we create for ourselves the more we fawn for the fingers of others fantasies,
impatience an instrument for the Devil to revel and drum,strum and hum,
born into a carnival of the careless and criminal
the Devil has a dream and your're his favorite dancer,
you hear in his voice a reflection of yourself and drown in delerium,
a community of stage hands supports your every scream
and silence your shouts for sovereignty,
buy the whole of the basement
but be prepared to be buried there,
a necropolis of creditors and debtors,
expired expressions on the faces of orphans kept alive by water colors
from the pallet of pleasure and perfumes of paradise,
as the spectacle ends the Prince of poverty greets us where dogs bark baldly
and the air is gray with cold,
he grips our hands with a lion's paw and cries coolly -
J.A.B. 2011