Long Favourite Poems

Long Favourite Poems. Below are the most popular long Favourite by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Favourite poems by poem length and keyword.


Premium Member Click My Heels and Travel

I love to travel anywhere, the more foreign the better for me,
Strange lands and how other people live is very interesting to see.
This travel bug I caught got started when I was only eighteen years old,
A college friend and I went to the Bahamas, we were fearless and so bold.

Then I started my career and I knew to take advantage of this time,
Each year I’d set off somewhere new, after saving my every dime.
I traveled to beautiful Hawaii followed by South America the next year,
One of my favourites was Bermuda, I was young, memories so dear.

I flew over to England and stayed for a fortnight to visit a new friend, 
We toured all around Scotland traveling as far north as Land’s end.
After that I spent a lot of time in the Caribbean, the trips become a blur,
Many islands look the same, palm trees and beaches, others will concur.

Mexico was interesting studying the Mayans from Chichen Itza to Tulum,
Manzanillo to Puerto Vallarta, high cliffs where the waves crash and loom,
Got engaged in Myrtle Beach, so it holds a special place in my heart,
Then honeymooned in Jamaica where we spent not a moment apart.

Once the children came along, the travel plans required a major adjust,
We would go away on 5 year anniversaries, this was an absolute must.
A Caribbean five island cruise then the next trip two weeks in New Zealand,
But my favourite place remains the Greek islands, windmills, sun and sand.

Liechtenstein, Austria and Switzerland was a mother-daughter trip,
I showed her the ropes of travel and how much to leave for a tip.
Seems this travel bug of mine has proved to be a little bit contagious
My daughter now loves travel but her destinations are more outrageous.

While traveling is usually an educational journey, one that I just adore,
I’ve had moments in Egypt and the Holy land, that chilled me to the core.
But even during these very scary times, one thing that stands forever true,
The people there were kind and caring, someone always willing to help you.

I think that I still have a few more trips left in me, if my pocket book holds out,
Need to see eastern Europe, China and Africa, there’s more to learn, no doubt.
For the meeting of new people and learning their culture, gives my life new lease,
It provides the burden of proof that all should know, we need to work for peace.

Written by Lee Ramage 
For Contest "Close your eyes and click your heels"
© Lee Ramage  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Rhyme


Premium Member Her Name Was Tamar

This Christmas, I am moved by the names in the genealogy of Jesus.                                            I find the Biblical genealogy of Israel and Jesus to be a very fascinating study.                                                                       There are four named women in the genealogy of Jesus and one name referenced. They are TAMAR, Rahab, Ruth, and Mary: Bathsheba is referenced to as Urias' wife.

When one reads TAMAR's story*, there is the feeling that what she did about her situation was over the top, out of culture, way out of line, and out of the realm of Godliness. By the same token, if we put our feet in her shoes, during her time, we might feel the same as she did regarding her plight and how to remedy the situation.  Her patience ran completely out, and she felt that her father-in-law Judah was not living up to his responsibility.  However, she did not bother to appeal to a greater earthly authority, nor did she bother to consult with The Lord.  She took matters into her own hands, and although her approach was deceitful, her outcome was acceptable to her.

Judah's verdict against her, by current human standards, seemed judgmental and harsh. But Tamar forced him to face the truth and to commute her sentence of death.  TAMAR proved to be a force to be reckoned with.

Judah speaks to all of us who spend our lives seeking self-gratification and running rampantly in our reckless self-righteousness.  TAMAR speaks volumes about taking matters into our own hands, seeking desperately to find a fix for what ails us. More often than not, such fantasy fixes end in failures, and we live with the consequences. Self-righteousness is often very subtle and is capable of wrapping itself around the best of us.  It's the type that says, "If I was writing a Holy Book, there would not be space on my Holy pages for the likes of Judah and Tamar".  As a human filled with flaws, flops, and failures of my own, I am most grateful for the grace of God that has been extended to me.  Both Judah and TAMAR, by no goodness of their own, found themselves in the genealogy of 'The Christ" who presents Himself as the Savior of the whole world.  That includes Judah, TAMAR, you, and me.

12042017PoSoupContest, Favourite Poem From December 2017, Julia Ward                                                                                    
*Genesis 38
Form: Prose

Robert Lloyd Sherriff - Australian - Spirit of Creation

Robert Lloyd Sherriff - Australian Poet, Author, Actor, and Model: American Historian.

Robert Lloyd Sherriff - Australian Poet (Born: 8th July 1954)

Robert Lloyd Sherriff - Follow if you want to be a better poet

An Ode to the Unbridled Spirit of Creation

In the quiet twilight of creation, where thoughts whisper to the soul, an untamed wildness is yearning to be set free. Deep within the heart, soul, and mind, the seeds of expression find their nurturing ground in this hallowed space, waiting to bloom into various colours, sounds, and words.

In the limitless expanse of the imagination, every heartbeat plays out like favourite melodies tinkling away on ivories under practised fingers. Music that not just echoes in chambers of the self but resonates through the ages, carrying with it the essence of its creator.

And oh, to paint the sky—a vast and undiscriminating canvas! With bold and gentle strokes, we call upon the palette of our emotions, blending hues in ways so profound that they leave even the divine in awe. Each colour is a word; each brushstroke is a sentence in the universe's grand narrative, celebrating the spectrum of human experience.

In the dance of words, written with enthusiasm uncontained, the pen becomes an extension of our deepest selves. Each phrase is a footprint left for eternity; every piece is a potential masterpiece that whispers secrets to those willing to listen even three centuries hence. What are words, if not vessels of our truths, dreams, and fears, cast across the temporal sea in hopes of reaching kindred spirits?

The beauty of creation lies not merely in coherence but in the chaotic symphony of expressing everything and nothing all at once. In the liberation of thoughts, unburdened by the constraints of conventionality, we genuinely connect — heart to heart, soul to soul. The essence of our being unfolds, touching others, enriching well-being, and bridging realms between the inner world and the outer universe.

As a poet, this is my plea—an invocation to all who dare to dream, to feel deeply, and to share unreservedly—serves as a beacon for the weary, the dreamers, the lovers, and the seekers. Your poetry, art, and song aren’t merely a reflection of your life or a tribute to those you love; they celebrate existence itself, connecting threads in the intricate web of human experience.
Form: Imagism

Taj-Symbol of Timeless Love

T
                                                       A
 TAJ                                                  J                                                TAJ
MAHAL                                         MAHAL                                          MAHAL
  [W]                                      MAUSOLEUM IN                                        [U]
  [O]                                A MARBLE SPLENDOUR                                    [N]
  [N]                            AN EPIC IN STONE,A MARVEL                                [E]
  [D]                        FOR HIS BELOVED MUMTAZ MAHAL                           [S]
  [E]          T          HIS FAVOURITE AND MOST CHERISHED       T              [C]
  [R]          A         QUEEN, BUILT HE,THIS NOBLE  MOGHUL       A              [O]
                 J         EMPEROR ,  A  MAGNIFICENT  MEMORIAL       J
  [O]      MAHAL     IN HER FOND MEMORY AFTER SHE LEFT     MAHAL         [H]
  [F]     *******     HIM SUNK IN UTTER GRIEF,WHEN SHE    *******        [E]
        BREATHED HER LAST, GIVING BIRTH TO THEIR FOURTEENTH CHILD   [R 
  [T]   IMMENSE WAS HIS LOVE                     TO IMMORTALIZE, HIS VOW   [I]
  [H]   BEREAVEMENT'S PAIN EXUDED AS LOVE IN STONES OF MONUMENT  [T]
  [E]  IVORY WHITE MARBLES                       LAPUS LAZULI,TURQUIOSES  [A]
        PIETRA DURA, ARTISTIC ,BEAUTY PERSONIFIED SANS ANY WONDER [G]
  [W] THIS TOKEN OF DEEP                           LOVE FOR  DARLING  WIFE   [E]
  [O]  STANDS SYMBOL  OF                           ETERNAL LOVE TODAY RIFE  
  [R]  ADORABLE,MAJESTIC                           REPOSITORY SO  ROMANTIC [S]
  [L]  THE KING AND QUEEN                          LEFT BEHIND LOVE  LEGACY  [I]
  [D]  HISTORY  WILL  HUM                          THIS LOVE STORY FOREVER  [T]
                                                                                                            [E]
ON MOONLIT NIGHTS ON BOSOM OF YAMUNA RIVER,FROM PLINTH TO DOME   MARBLE SHINES LIKE SILVER. IN EVERLASTING SLUMBER LAY IN TOMB THE 
QUEEN WITH HER KING BESIDE, THEIR STORY IN LOVER'S HEARTS RESIDE. 
LONG LIVE ETERNAL LOVE OF KING SHAH JAHAN, LONG LIVE THE TAJ !!!!!!   

 28th December 2016
~ For Concrete Crush Contest~ 
Glossary:
Pietra Dura:  Inlay technique of using cut and fitted, highly polished colored stones to create images.
© Anu Nayak  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Concrete

Myrtle Parker

Myrtle Parker

Myrtle Parker lived on the Riviera,
That’s the English one not the French.
Her favourite tipple is Red Currant Cider,
Only beverage her thirst would quench.

Never did she marry no husband,
Preference for life single and free,
Though kept two doggy companions,
Twin Westies, Florence and Zebedee.

Miss Parker was a gatherer and hoarder,
Antiques, curios, lots of impractical tat.
Her catchphrase was somewhat familiar,
“I‘ll find a good use for that.”

Tumbledown Cottage name on the gate,
Aptly called for badly required repair.
The man from Devonshire Council,
Shakes his head in anguished despair.

Oh, dear Myrtle what are we to do,
I cannot see the wood for the trees,
Environment Officer is calling today,
He doesn’t like cockroach and fleas.

Myrtle lives close to Muscle shell beach,
Small cove of shingle and coarse sand,
Opposite the Cat protection league,
Where she buys new clothes second hand.

One summer had a house full of Kittens,
That grew into fully grown cats.
They left her in search of new comforts,
Plagued by visits of large rodent rats.

Myrtle decided on a radical clear out,
To make way for a new feather bed,
But could not let go of her treasures,
So continued sleeping on the sofa instead.
Seventy years old, obstinate and proud,
Devon Council man returned to her door.
“This house is making you poorly my dear,
Regretfully you cannot live here anymore.

Oh, dear Myrtle here’s what we’ll do,
Move you into a comfy town flat,
Environment Officer is calling today,
Condemn your cottage, so sorry about that.

Myrtle Parker was born in this house,
Her father he worked on the boats,
Mother stayed home baking bread,
From freshly ground buckwheat groats.

Tumbledown cottage is full of memories,
Though can’t find many for the clutter.
Diminutive rooms two up two down,
Walls dampened by broken pipe gutter.

If I have to go then take me in a box,
She chained herself to the newel post.
I’ll defend my rights for all I’m worth,
Then haunt Council man as his ghost.

Council man arrives excited with keys,
For Miss Parkers new urban home,
But Myrtle had been true to her word,
and perished on the staircase all alone.

Oh, dear Myrtle what have you done,
Your new flat was shiny and clean,
Environment Officer is calling today,
Demolition boss with bulldozer team.
© Kevin Shaw  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Ballad


Premium Member What Make a Best Friends

~What Make A Best Friends~


Best friends are hard to find 
Just like among the lovely stars at night we’ve to pick the best one 
A priceless gem of God’s Loving Divine. 

I finally found you Linda (aka pd)...
My heart is in triumph 
My desolation is gone 
You’re not only like a star, but my rising sun 
Someone who tenaciously raises me up when I’m down. 

When a shroud of gloom hangs over me, 
You cheer me up 
Whether you are far or near 
Your listening ears give me a breath of wind. 

You offer the loveliest rose in your garden 
Smile…. Laugh and cry with me 
One of those who anchors to the fulfillment of my dream 
Hone-in-on to a friend’s sake 
Offers a mighty shoulder to lean on 
Or to stand to see further.   --From: L.G.

-A dearest sis, from heaven send-
I share my muse, with your beating friendship
Never would I force you to answer or say something
When I'm hurt or crying, or feel like my life is over
Just knowing you are there listening, brings comfort--
--Whether you are near or far
I know you will be there caring in every step of the way

In you I see a woman who highly respects herself
A beautiful person who goes a long way, making others feel the light 
I would never trade you for someone who can't prance and dance like you
Your best quality, comes from being yourself no matter who's around
This is how I know, you have the perfect ingredients 
Of what makes a special best friend

So, fun, unique and interesting, Leonora you are so sweet
You understand, with support, you carry a soul of trust and beauty
You were there through my good times and bad
A positive shoulder to cry on
Without casting judgment on the things I've done,
I smile with glee, enjoying your sincerity
Leonora, my BFF, I hope you don't mind that I gave my secret away 
The perfect ingredients, of what makes a best friend.  --By: P.D.



Jan. 10-17,2014

- collaboration poem of Linda/PD and Leonora


~ It’s again my great honor to have been invited to collaborate with my most all time favourite, my greatest poet,  loving poet sis and forever BFF, PD/ Linda. She's a very special poet sis & friend/BFF of mine . I’m in tears of joy to know that I’m also special to her. Word’s are inadequate to thank you enough for everything my dearest sis!  My biggest & loveliest hugs ever to u!  Lovem4evr sis & BFF Leo
© Len Gasun  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member Ozzie Our Spaniel

The 28th of April; I'll always remember that day
It was very overcast and the sky was quite grey
That short journey to the vet I will never forget 
And when I think back to that day, I have no regret.

He was such a welcome member of our family
A playful cocker spaniel and we named him Ozzie 
He loved to go for long walks out in the country
When he saw us with his lead, he'd go off in a frenzy. 

I thought he'd take off when he started wagging his tail
The weather didn't faze him, be it ice snow or hail
I would mumble about the weather under my breath 
But he was loving every minute although soaking wet. 

We'd get back from our walk and I'd rub him down 
You could see the joy in his face and never a frown 
Then after his dinner he'd lie down for a long snooze 
Out of all the dogs in the world every time him I'd choose. 

He was eleven years old when he started to fade
I lost count of the many visits to the vets we made
We must have given him every medicine and pill
But we knew in our hearts that Ozzie was quite ill. 

0ur family got together to discuss what was for the best 
Reluctantly we all agreed that we should put Ozzie to rest
That terrible morning arrived, it was just another day
All he could do was sleep, he was just too ill to play. 

My wife came home from work and I carried him to the car
Then drove slowly down to the vets, it wasn't too far
We went inside and sat down and no words were said
And I tried not to think that soon Ozzie would be dead. 

It seemed like a life time then a nurse called us in
I carried him to a side room; the vet was waiting 
The vet reassured us that he wouldn't feel a thing
We were both biting our lips to stop us from crying. 

We'd brought his favourite biscuits and fed him one by one 
And just a few minutes later our playful Ozzie was gone 
We stayed with him for a while and then left him there
I know now it was for the best because we did care. 

We got home it felt empty no one to greet us at the door 
And I missed seeing him where he'd often lie on the floor 
Its been three long years now but I'll never forget 
That Ozzie was one of the family and not just a pet.


(Ozzie left us on the 28th April 2017) 


Written 8th August 2020




For All Pets Go To Heaven Poetry Contest 

Sponsored By Constance La France
Form: Narrative

Premium Member You are the Music

'You are the music', the guitar strings of my favourite song.
Your lyrics 'touch my life,' as you are the twin to my soul.
What 'am I' without you, when all melodies sound so wrong.
I'll never question 'what is a woman's role' in rock and roll.

Your lyrics touch my life, as you are the twin to my soul.
My 'midnight flyer' your spirit glows like a 'seafull' of stars.
I'll never question what is a woman's role in rock and roll.
When life 'makes you wanna cry' we can create memoirs.

My midnight flyer your spirit glows like a seafull of stars.
When you 'send me no more letters,' I'll ignore the post.
When life makes you wanna cry we can create memoirs,
I'll follow your footsteps, roaming from 'coast to coast.'

When you send me no more letters, I'll ignore the post,
wondering 'will our love end,' before the ultimate vow.
I'll follow your footsteps, roaming from coast to coast,
until you serenade about 'feelin' so much better now.'

Wondering will our love end, before the ultimate vow,
'it's only a dream,' but you get 'nothin' for nothing,'
until you serenade about feelin' so much better now.
'Your love is allright' when your muse is soft and loving.

It's only a dream, but you get nothin' for nothing.
It hurts 'way back to the bone' when you leave me alone.
Your love is allright when your muse is soft and loving.
'Black clouds' fade to white when I hear your sweet tone.

It hurts way back to the bone when you leave me alone.
I feel like a 'loser' playing solo to a 'jury' of 'back street love.'
Black clouds fade to white when I hear your sweet tone.
I ain't 'keepin' time,' but it's just 'another day' of grey skies above.

I feel like a 'loser' playing solo to a 'jury' of 'back street love.'
What 'am I' without you, when all melodies sound so wrong.
I ain't 'keepin' time.' but it's just 'another day' of grey skies above.
'You are the music', the guitar strings of my favourite song.

21 songs from Glenn Hughes with Trapeze:

What is a woman's role
You are the music
Touch my life 
Am i
Seafull
Midnight flyer
Makes you wanna cry
Coast to coast
Send me no more letters
Feelin so much better now
Will our love end
Nothin' for nothing
It's only a dream
Your love is allright
Way back to the bone
Black cloud
Jury
Loser
Back street love
Keepin' time
Another day
© Silent One  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Pantoum

Premium Member Beauty

Beauty

Beauty is all around me, in a million different things.
The silvery haired, wrinkled face of one that has impenetrable memories
She smiles and longs for someone, anyone to bust her out of her prison of silence.
It is in the wispy, snowy white, silk of a milkweed as it frees itself of its casing
It arrives in the sound of a beautiful well orchestrated piece of music that penetrates my soul.
In the simplicity of a simple clump of wildflowers that grows freely in the ditch.
As my dog Quincy runs freely with his friend Sawyer 
the beauty of their comradery and unbridled joy is unparalleled.
It is in the kindness of those who consider the feelings of others and gently encourage.
It emerges from the generosity at Christmas and unselfish acts all around from veritable strangers.
The lake on a late November afternoon with its shades of bluish greys 
And a backdrop of thick denseness but a silvery light reflecting on the water
and peeking through to show me one more surprise before covering up with its blanket of dark.
The tedious overnight work of a spider who sits in wait 
in the most radiant web with drops of dew sitting carefully on a strand.
In the spirit of one who never gives up 
and remains grateful even after unmentionable hardships and grief.
In the words of the poets claiming words as their own 
to create the most unique ways of speaking their truth.
In the love of a couple simply holding hands as they walk.
The joy of a child’s face as he sees his favourite grandpa has come to visit.
Of course, there are the generous sunsets 
and flowers of every colour that decorate my outside world
The seagulls that stand on one leg, 
The geese that fly to unknown destinations at the same time every day
The elaborate sandcastle built lovingly with a dad on the beach
The nest with chirping baby birds begging furiously to fill their emptiness
made lovingly with grasses and twigs and various treasures.
The smell of beautifully roasted coffee permeating my early morning
It is a beautifully crafted piece of art that is fresh from the soul’s expression of the artist’s brush
I have learned to see the beauty all around and build a life of gratefulness 
Beauty surprises and comes in simplest form
Which helps to drown the sorrow that inevitably must come to us all.

Grace Daub
December 1, 2021
© Grace Daub  Create an image from this poem.

Trust a Stranger

You're walking out the front entrance 
Leaving work behind you 
Forgetting the hustle of the day 
Looking forward to a quite drink 

Chilling out 
In your 
Soft 
Comfy 
Favourite 
Chair 

Staring into an open fire 
Being carried away with the beat of the music 
When all of a sudden 
You're startled 

By the thundering crackling 
Sound from the exhaust 
Of a oversized shinny motor bike 

A leather cladded rider dismounts
Blocking your path 
As you stand stunned & glued to the spot 
The rider comes up to your face 
Through a tinted visor on a black helmet 
You hear a soft gentle familiar voice saying

Put this on and let's go 
All your fears flash in front of you 
But your censors say your safe 
You allow this gentle giant 
To carefully place the open face helmet over your head 
Slowly secure it under your chin 
Hands you some wrap around sun glasses
Without a word 

The rider shows you how to 
Comfortably mount a bike 
Indicates you to wait until he is on 
Gives you the nod
As you mount the bike 

Cuddle into the rider 
looking over his right shoulder 
Smelling & feeling the leather on your bare skin 
As you clasp your hands together 
Around the stomach of the rider 

The bike starts 
Startled by the noise you jump 
And thrusted back as we take off 

Slowly through the main street 
Slow down even more for the school zone 
Swerving 
Swaying 
Dodging 
In and out 
Of the afternoon traffic 

Leaving the bottle neck behind 
With the confusion and worry 
Hitting the open road 
Winding the throttle wide open 

The purring of the pipes 
Echoing off on coming cars 
The thumping of the motor 
Rising up through the seat 

The wind caressing your face 
As we brake hard and throw 
The bike down into a left hand lean 
Around the corner in one motion 
Pick the bike up and throw down 
Into a right hand corner 

Dancing 
Up 
Down 
And around 

Up the hill onto the flat 
Surrounded trees 
The afternoon sun strobing through the trees 

Behind the trees 
In the paddocks 
Prancing 
Dancing 
Meres and foals

Back into town 
Where I stop at your place 
I dismount 
Extend my hand to help you off 
Lovingly remove your helmet 
Tie it on the sissy bar 
Jump on the bike 

With a crack from the pipes 
The engine roars 
Burning the tar with my back tyre 
Leaving you standing in the cutter

Dumbfounded 
Bewildered 
Tingling 
Laughing and smiling
Form: Prose

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