Long Formatted Poems
Long Formatted Poems. Below are the most popular long Formatted by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Formatted poems by poem length and keyword.
Perry, a poet so bright,
your words are stars that light the night.
In verses, you weave tales so fine,
each stanza is like a precious rhyme.
your manuscript, a work of art,
each poem is touched by your loving heart.
with every line and stanza too,
you paint a world both old and new.
I've formatted it with utmost care,
let your poetry shine and share.
the footnotes added as you can see,
To honor your words, so wild and free.
your poems, they sing, they dance, they soar,
In your verses, we find much more.
an ode to life, love, and grace,
In your words, we find a sacred place.
So here's to you, our poet dear,
your verses whisper in our ear.
with innocence and wisdom combined,
your poetry's a treasure, one of a kind.
let's journey forth, create and refine,
your manuscript, a masterpiece divine.
In this poetic world, we'll take our flight,
guided by your words, shining so bright.
with gratitude and joy, we say,
thank you for brightening our day.
your poems, a gift, so pure and true,
Poet Perry, our hats off to you!
Footnote:
A celebration of words and imagery—the Photo Poetry Prints Book brings together original poems and art photography in one beautifully crafted volume. Each page pairs verse with visuals, inviting you to slow down, feel, and see the world through a poet's eye.
9-24-15
Drop off written document box—
Cliff…
Cavernous crevice—
The gap…
|Space| between the lines—
Infinitude…
Continue to-do—
Proposed madness…
Accusation—
Abuser…
Formatted contextual suicide—
Any last words?
Nuff said;
Feller-poor—
Naughty-nuff-ever-
Poor-feller-for…;
Naughty-Nuff-
Ever-poor—
Clever-poor-feller-forever-more—
Gallery-glamorous-galore-
Poor nuff-not-ever-more—
Furthermore related by propositional disclaim—
Plea bargaining forever-more…
Embodied image interrogated—
Seemingly poor-
Naughty-Nuff wants more-for-less-more-for
Nuff-said-feller-poor—
Ever-if-fortune-wins-glamorous-galore—
Poor-feller-remains-for-ever-more…
Wonder why?
Why wonder-for?
For why-for-wonder-more?
More-or-less-for-ever-wonder—
What wonder-for?
For why wonder-for—
Why am I writing—why-wonder-more?
More for why wonder-what-for—
A LEDGER. . .
No less or no more—
I remember when YOU were little
On the newspaper YOU did piddle
Puppy, Nicky-Nic could do it all
He would fetch a stick or catch a ball
I remember with a voice command
You would roll over, speak, sit or stand
YOU were by my side at work or play
My faithful companion, night and day
Swimming in the cool, clear mountain lakes
Romping through the snow, catching snowflakes
Springtime garden, Nick would till the ground
Jumping in the leave's multi-hued mound
My companion for eleven years
For my best friend, I shed many tears
Good-by Nicky-Nic Until again we meet
When I find solace, YOU laying at my feet
Dedicated To my Puppy " NICKY-NIC "
Author’s note : This is formatted from the Original POEM
NICKY-NIC For Danielle White’s Animal Companion Contest
There you have it...
Do you have it...
Can you get it...
Do you want it...
Of course we do, who wouldn't, wouldn't you
Because it's it and it is what we all want, it's true
The answer to the question you needed to know
There you have it...
Finding the missing pieces to your puzzles
Do you have it...
Figuring out where you can get what you need
Can you get it...
Knowing that you have all you desire
Do you want it...
Of course we do, who wouldn't, wouldn't you
It is everything that we want or need materialistically
It is all that we've found that was thought lost
It is what we're searching for throughout time
It is everything real, fake, or pretend
It is nothing if we don't want to share it
If it were true then it would never be false
It would be something else it's not meant to be
It is everything, and it's nothing
Do you have that certain it inside of you
Of course you do, we all do
You just have to find it
Uncover it
Embrace it
Love it
And live happily ever after with...it...
11/25/17
It was written for contest: "IT"
Note: Yes IT is in a strange format but I formatted IT like this
to prove the titles point of, "It Is What It Is" and nothing else
I love a good cocktail party. Unlike a bar, you can talk.
After three drinks I believe in transformation.
I reconstruct myself from conversation to conversation,
editing my own footnotes like a controlled burn.
While some people arrive whole and fully formatted,
my personality just buffers, spins and refreshes.
Though I suspect everyone’s upgrading themselves in real time.
When someone asks me, “What do you do?”
I say, “I read a lot,” with no qualifiers or visible panic.
I think saying “I’m in school” makes me sound.. adolescent.
After three drinks, I like everyone
and I want to make them happy
- conversationally.
I believe that, at a cocktail party,
people should morally align with ambiguity.
No one should come in with ‘strong opinions,’
because if we can avoid fistfights -
these events feel like a success.
The worst question I can get, at any event starts with,
“Aren’t you—” because then I know they want to talk about my grandmère.
Peter, sensing wild and stormy weather, will pull me away with,
“Let me borrow you for a second.”
Sometimes, on the way home, I’ll practice my go-to cocktail sentence.
“I read a lot,” I say, repeating it like an actor trying to give it more personality
- so maybe someday it’ll be enough.
.
.
Songs for this:
Hawt Heart by Born At Midnite
Islands of Men by Geese
.
* guess where we went Friday night.
My pen writes for hours until all the flimsy thoughts
form sentences, clauses, paragraphs measuring passages of time
submitted to journals, magazines, chronicles, and gazettes.
My eyes pause and study the organized vocabulary strands
like DNA with the same four unique proteins strung in different patterns
creating meaning to the alphabet of choice.
My fingers are quick to send to an entrusted friend for meaningful edits
within minutes they spin, collect and whirl the patterns
capitulating to the canned and unoriginal “super intelligence” systems
My nostrils flare at the aroma of AI vomit of words instructing
with endless, organized and neatly formatted pages of ghostwriting edits
and futile forests of feedback from a slipshod and perfunctory ally.
My lips start to summon the sages of intellect, wisdom, writing, and poetry
they meet me with a treatise on a revelation that I have become the “AI slop”
and all voices are muted on the world train running rogue toward annhiliation
My TV Clicks once and the news lava belches living fire into a frigid sea water room
benumbed to the genocides, violence, wars, disasters, and lack of humanity
activists, protesters splash limited words across posters to defy societal anathema
In a world of giants that traffic the consciousness of human minds across algorithms
Maybe, my son has it right, after all...
the ZERO is the only worthy space left and the hero doesn’t exist
"All our soldiers died on the battle field,
And its an inspiring awe that the royal euchite never got killed,
Prove to me if it's not a disloyal formatted deal?
Our Emperor's skin was scorchingly peeled,
Inextricably with his scepter and crown uncongealed,
So accept what I'm telling you with a loyal heart,
"Bring to me that euchite,
To whom does he stir pretence against to excite?
He deserves not to feel the rainfall in the savannah zone,
Make sure you get me blush of young males to take on him a toll,
Select from them strong men with healthy head bone,
Whilst you organise an imperial poll,
Weary is my sacred sword to behead that intrusive soul,
He will see the power which sleeps extremely if a chimpanzee starts to groan,
Why should he publish books of demonic role?
Who gave him the previlege to fastened those royal pavillions with a vicious rope?
Politics is now introducing cruel dominion,
Tell me if I'm wrong to take revenge against his acted oppinion,
Day to day it destroys those consecrated trees in the grove,
Take this atlas to lead you through the scaling cone,
Look through the regions of wooldlands hole,
On the desert,follow every caravan in a row,
You can testify how this city is now getting old,
And that gnat want to please the heart of its foe,
Be alert on every step you take on the evil road,
He may also set his prime troops to defend himself with a brutal show,
And I think you being as patriot will fetch us a lifetime bote,
Probably,when you get hold of him outside the cities identified with a stone,
Bring him back to justify himself at home,
If you also catch him anywhere holding the emperor's hone,
Mark his forehead before you bring him to defecate what he'd sold,
For we will then after,enthrone you to play a monarch role,
In order to extend the pastures of our regional mode",
These are the words of a great commander to his descreet servants.
A spider winters in the leaves,
Tucked from the bitter cold
it weaves, a den
within a curled, dead leaf
concealed
and covered, underneath,
when life has withered,
black and
brown,
it's empty shell,
goes floating
down
This poem is interesting that the meter is in iambic pentameter but I chose to format it like a Free Verse.
A spider winters in the leaves,
Tucked from the bitter cold it weaves,
a den within a curled, dead leaf
concealed and covered, underneath.
When life has withered, black and brown,
it's empty shell, goes floating down.
How would you have formatted it, if it were your poem.
Some hand you smiles dipped in napalm,
Then turn to poison the second you drop your guard.
Humans, Moral plastic caught in flame,
Deals of décor, rotting behind the facade.
Draw your lines, don’t offer the other cheek,
Run before you melt, before their vice seeps in.
Don’t become their reflection in the sewage creek,
Shield your core, gun down their shadowed kin.
The closest ones stab you while humming tunes,
You believed them ?
Then you bought their stage show.
Masks always fall, but not too soon,
And it cuts deep when your gold turns hollow.
Time bows to no one, knows no friend, no code,
Yet it empties your pockets and carves your load.
You thought the heart beat louder than their schemes?
Mistake. Love’s just a crooked trade, poorly sold.
Behind each hug lie venom-laced gleams,
Vows engraved to chain you cold.
They market tenderness by the single unit,
But price tags shift when the interest slides.
Soft gazes? Formatted lies in transit,
Traitorous programs packed in disguise.
Give too much, and your neck’s in the noose,
To soul-thieves cloaked as folks you trust.
They pierce your chest with sugary abuse,
Fake virtue dripping from pockets of dust.
You believed in them, you opened your gate,
Now burn the inside, cleanse what they taint.
They say you’re mad when you see too clear,
Call your insight bitterness, a vengeful trace,
But don’t confuse wound with righteous spear,
It’s not hate, it’s reading the human disgrace.
They cry victim when you show the proof,
Blame you for cruelty while sharpening blades.
Their kindness? A theater, a Judas spoof,
Tears of the damned when your trust degrades.
They preached forgive, they preached be kind,
While they reload their games behind the screen.
Fed you morals like venom in your mind,
While they trafficked virtue in silence obscene.
Desert the pews of their demonic plays,
Rip off the label, good intent betrays.
“If anyone wants to know what elephants are like,
they are like people only more so.”
— Peter Corneille
That 'feral' part of me- mimes you in praise.
You, Elephant, I've followed many ways;
your cogent, native skills inspire my deeds
as you attune me to familial needs
I make it easier to help them through
for young ones of my 'herd', and elders too,
so that like you, my kindred will endure-
my sense of duty matches yours for sure-
fierce guardian- yet, gentle as a lamb
a mother, matriarch- surely I am-
you've influenced me since I was a child;
so like you, Elephant- majestic, wild.
May 29, 2020
~1st Place~
Contest: My Spirit Animal
Sponsor: Dear Heart
Judged: 06/07/2020
Form: Couplet- Written as a Reversible Poem-
can be read up or down.
(Newly formatted poem, with references
from a former poem)