Long Fourteen Poems
Long Fourteen Poems. Below are the most popular long Fourteen by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fourteen poems by poem length and keyword.
Fate turned serendipitous on that day
That made was I to take a rout walked less,
My nose when felt a strange fragrance on way,
Not all unknown, devoid still of address--
For I failed to recall any a name
Until a flower bed in front I saw
And then the tree-- lit with light all aflame,
Ah, sky jasmines, I cried out in some awe.
Indian cork trees, a stranger to bare few,
Known by flowers that hang like a lantern
In late autumn, a scene of heaven’s hue,
Five white fragrant petals a burn in sun.
I try smell the cork wood
But cork’s no sandalwood!
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Sonnet | 12.02.2026 | autumn, fate, flowers, fountain, fragrance
Note: Sky Jasmines (Millingtonia hortensis) of Indian cork tree. Buch flowers in Gujarati, Latak Chandani in Marathi, Aakash neem/Aakash Chameli in Hindi, Aakash Malli in Tamil, Seeta Haar in Bengali…
Why a sonnet of two half lines at the end? Well, fourteen is the prevailing practice. Yet, with thirteen a sonnet defines better harmonic or golden mean considering the ratios defined by two divisions: the smaller (the sestet) to the larger (the octave) what the larger is to the whole (thirteen). But to make even number of lines for the sake of rhyming symmetry, the thirteenth line is made of two halves. So, eight plus five (full lines), not six. Also, 5 and 8 as well as the sum 13 are consecutive integers in the Fibonacci series.
Many years ago in Redwood as a boy and a man
I’ll tell you the story as fast as I can
About a remarkable person, really special in fact
Who made up for the townspeople, everything they lacked
He was the town Doctor
Saw through many fears
Helped raise the town
For three score and fifteen years
Delivered all of Mrs McCarthy,s babies, fourteen in all
Removed Mr Browns Gallstones, whilst he was lying in his hall
Brought over two hundred children into this world
No wonder his hair was grey and slightly curled
Walked everywhere to somewhere never drove at all
Winter, Spring, Summer and Fall
Always at hand for everybody,s needs
Just could not help but do people good deeds
I remember when the Pox took many lives away
Bus old Doc Taylor, he saved the day
No thought for his own safety, always around
With a kind word and his medicine abound
Most people could not pay but he did not care
To serve all his days , always to be there
That was his life no time for romance
Married to the community, had no second chance
Miss Betty his secretary , loved him no less
Always nearby in a pretty red dress
Though he never noticed, she did not mind
She knew the real man, one who was so kind
During the War when he left to serve
Fought for his country, he had a lot of nerve
Saved man a soldier, thanks to him many came home
It was down to Doc Taylor, they were still able to roam
Came the great winter of thirty nine or so
Many were left stranded caught out in the snow
But Doc did not worry, he was still content
Fighting the elements, if people needed him, so off he went
Came the night of the great Blizzard, whole town buried alive
It would be a miracle if anyone survived
Every one was saved except one who was lost
Alone, out in the snow and the frost
Three weeks later the great thaw came about
People could move, get out and about
But down by the mill, under a blanket in the dirt
We found Doc,s frozen body , he looked so sad and hurt
Frozen to death, out helping others
Tears were shed by us all, brothers, sisters and mothers
This great man had given his life for ours
Trying to help in the end, taking medicine and flowers
To old Mrs McCarthy, having number fifteen
The bonniest baby you have ever seen
She called him Johnny, after the Doc
The man who helped raise us all, liked a shepherd with his flock.
They will know we are Christians by our love, by our love, oh so thick!
A beautiful gospel by Peter Schotte, published in 1966
Cannot sing it too often. They will know we are Christians by our love
I was fourteen years old when it came out, and it fit me like a glove.
The actual title was "We are One in the Spirit."
Makes me feel so glad when I am near it.
I still sing "We are one, we are won, we are one," without fleece.
Knowing until we know this, the world cannot have peace.
They will know we are Christians, we are one, we are one,
Singing this loudly and proudly is more than just fun!
They will know we are Christians by our love, by our love.
This gospel song makes me happy, and fits my beliefs like a glove!
Except for one thing. I am not only cheering for Christians, I love all.
I am cheering for all religions, and I want none of them to fall.
Which is why I am a spiritualist, for it includes everyone.
I think God would approve as would His most glorious, caring, giving Son.
Shrubbery leaves and foliage, all these very gloriously and graciously green,
In my verdant jade roof top garden, reflect greenness on my laptop screen.
Verbose prolixed, scattered, strewn fill up spaces all around in my jade garden,
Soak and fill me with haunting memories of Rita, Irene, Jeanne, Jolene and Celine.
Of sweetness and tenderness envious nostalgic musings ever so green,
To my mind’s eye these imagery still emerge at will very pristine and clean.
Between fourteen and eighteen up here they broke my warm, gentle and fond heart,
Then at nineteen it was here in this greenery with Norma Jean, we abruptly fell apart.
Green the world seemed to me when I sat here all these years alone and lonely,
Scripting and crafting dense verses of earthly passions that are profound, eloquent and comely.
Glorious greens, gorgeous greens, jade greens,
All mankind reveres the vitality you create that is meant for kings and queens.
But for me the color green,
Often remind me of my recent sojourns with Maureen and Pauline.
So to now to reflect and meditate splashes of green I imagine feel and use,
my heart chakra to open and feel love , empathy and compassion and forlorn thoughts to diffuse.
Green… green…green….. I have now sensed and seen….
Will come before me for times umpteen and as a routine.
The Colors Have It Poetry Contest
29/2/2012
My Most Embarrassing Moment?
Twice I’ve entered freeways
On the ramps meant just for exits.
Lordy! How embarrassing is that?
Except nobody knew me
And with little difficulty
I remedied those situations fast!
Twice or thrice I walked into
Restrooms meant for men.
But no one saw me, or, once again,
Nobody knew me.
I got off lucky.
But there was one time
I did it at a pool.
Without my contacts in,
I might as well have just been blind.
I think the guy I walked in on was naked then.
But he did not know me (Saved again!)
Another time, at age fourteen,
I hopped around the yard, a silly teen
Sitting on a big fat ball -
Called Hippity Hop. I took a fall
In front of my new boyfriend.
I split my pants; he didn’t even tell me,
But once I learned what I had done,
That ended our romance!
I ‘m sure I pulled more stunts than that
Through all my years of school.
But being such an airhead
I simply have to say,
My most embarrassing moment -
Whatever it may be -
I don’t recall it anyway!
I saw her standing by the door
after school waiting for her ride
I waved and said
“Au revoir” as I passed by
It was all I had time for
on my way to French Club
I was always in a rush then
considering my future
what more I could do to stand out
on college and scholarship
applications
hoping to escape the poverty
that had plagued my family
for generations
I’d be the first to go
I couldn’t know
the next time I’d see her
would be in a casket
my childhood crashing to an end
at the age of fourteen
exactly a week
before my fifteenth birthday
like the car that killed her
driven by a drunk
sentenced to
a mere seven years
only serving two
for taking the one true friend
I’d ever had
away from me forever
Au revoir means
until I see you again
The Vatican hides many books, but some stories bleed through stone.
He was Pope Fourteen, God's chosen hand,
A shepherd cloaked in crimson and command.
But beneath the weight of holy crowns,
A man still burns when no one's around.
She was Anna, a Catholic nanny, pure and fair,
With ink-black eyes and Marian prayer.
She sang the hymns with sacred grace—
But bore a storm behind her face.
Each Sunday night, when Rome lay still,
They met below Saint Peter’s will.
A hidden tunnel, cold and deep,
Where secrets crawl and angels weep.
There, among scrolls and serpent dust,
They broke their vows in sacred lust.
He kissed her sins, she moaned his name—
No saint or sinner left the same.
He whispered, “Forgive me, Father, for I have burned,”
She answered, “Then burn again until we learn.”
But fate is cruel to secret flames—
The nanny’s belly grew with shame.
A holy child? A cursed seed?
The Curia watched, and so decreed.
They took the child in robes and rings,
And chanted old unspoken things.
The infant’s cry became the bell—
That tolls for those who sleep in Hell.
A dagger carved from Judas’ breath,
Was kissed and plunged to seal its death.
The Pope knelt down, too numb to scream,
And Anna vanished from the dream.
Now when the bells of midnight toll,
And incense haunts the dome’s black soul,
They say a cry can still be heard—
A baby’s wail. A broken word.
The Pope went blind in both his eyes,
But claimed he now could see the skies.
He walks alone, he speaks to ghosts—
And drinks to shadows more than hosts.
So if you wander Vatican's night,
Beware the door without a light.
Where love and death once made a vow—
And saints still tremble, even now.
The tattered Cabbage Rose peeled
Elegant décor of decades past, the wallpaper offered
only a hint of its former beauty
Its faded pinks and murky greens belied
the glorious blush of its zenith
As I stared from the perch of my uneven mattress,
I pondered the old Chester Inn
I thought about the lives it had touched
and I could almost hear the chatter of children
readying a day at the beach
or the clinking of crystal, a romantic toast
Its halls, still dressed in gray sculptured carpet,
told their story too, carried along on a musty
seaside breeze
An early twentieth century relic, the Inn was
bidding farewell, no longer able to compete
in a modern world
Its dated charm lost on new generations
As I considered that waning Cabbage Rose,
I contemplated the course of life for us all,
its cycles, its sequels
and as I drew my last sigh of crisp, salty air,
I said goodbye to room fourteen
In Philadelphia, in the year 1929,
an actress was born that had a career that was fine.
Grace Kelly, the daughter of Jack and Margaret Kelly,
came from quite a distinguished Irish Catholic family.
Her father was successful as a self-made millionaire;
her brother, an Olympian and town councilman there.
Grace’s uncle Walter Kelly was a vaudeville actor,
and Uncle George Kelly, a Pulitzer-winning writer.
Any film critic would tell you her acting was quite good.
She was one of the beautiful women in Hollywood.
Among her films were, “Fourteen Hours”, “High Noon”, and “Mogambo”,
and Alfred Hitchcock’s “Dial M for Murder” and “Rear Window”.
For “The Country Girl”, she won the Oscar for Best Actress.
In several other major films, Grace made great progress.
Included with “The Swan”, her other great pictures would be
“To Catch a Thief“, “Green Fire” and “The Bridges at Toko-Ri”
Her last film would be with Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby.
This was the Cole Porter musical “High Society”.
Later that year, Grace would marry Monaco’s Prince Rainier.
She retired from the screen and became a princess that day.
Grace had three children, Albert, Caroline, and Stephanie.
With her husband, she ruled the tiny principality.
Grace’s life ended abruptly when she was fifty-two.
Her life was like a storybook fairy tale dream come true.
True Christmas Miracle True Story Full version written by Wendy Horder. 2020
Huddled in muddy trenches, the soldiers heard an eerie sound.
Troops were English, French & Belgians, and as they looked around,
The sound was coming from the German enemy lines just 50 yards away.
It was singing, and the German soldiers were approaching on that day.
It was the twenty fourth of December nineteen fourteen.
Between France and Belgium, The Western Front, was the scene.
As Germans left their trenches a cry of “Merry Christmas” could be heard.
Our solders could only watch without saying, even one word.
The German solders looked so jovial, it didn’t seem to be a trick,
Our soldiers hesitated, slowly coming out, their actions were not quick.
Soon they were striding up to the oncoming soldiers, accepting their invite.
The beautiful singing drew them in, even though they feared it wasn’t right.
There was laughing and joking, and they all exchanged gifts sent from home.
Seemed all men were the same, didn’t matter from where they roam.
They smoked and showed each other photos of their children & wives.
For a short time, they were comrades not one bit afraid for their lives.
As night fell, drowned in soft moonlight, German carols filled the air.
For the first time since the war began, each soldier felt comfort there.
Laughter resounded, and the allies began O Come All Ye Faithful, in tune.
Germans sang the same Hymn, in Latin Adeste Fideles, under the moon.
I wonder if it crossed their minds “Just what are we fighting for?”
How extraordinary, enemies singing together a carol in the middle of a war.
By morning gifts of cake, smokes and clothes were exchanged by each side.
Men chatting as a magician and a juggler were enjoyed, with eyes open wide.
A barber in civilian life, gave haircuts. Soldiers had notes they addressed,
Hoping to be taken to their loved ones in France and England in the west.
Soccer broke out. The game went hours, that history making Christmas day.
Soldiers on both sides spent time burying their comrades, to their dismay.
Soldiers who had been killed in fighting that preceded that wonderful truce.
A truce that should be an example of what we humans can willingly produce.
A true show, that men aren’t killing machines, everyone, a husband or a son.
A true Christmas Miracle from the bloody chapters of World War One.