Long Full range Poems
Long Full range Poems. Below are the most popular long Full range by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Full range poems by poem length and keyword.
Truth beyond bias in belief and perception
Counter Intuitive
To be me Or not to be
Practice makes perfect Boredom fosters sloppiness
Try to be happy all the time Full range of emotions fulfills.
Improving your weaknesses Focus on what you are best at
Always just be yourself Adapt, change in response to others
Pick me, I'm such a beauty All that glitters is not gold
Work less to achieve more Taking a break, wastes your time
Failure is a setback drudge Trial and error a win out need
Giving is better than receiving Rewarding oneself is fulfilling
Less is more, easier to choose Less to choose from you miss the best one
First impressions are reliable Snap judgments are biased by your failings
When investments fail cut your losses Keep investing until you turn the corner
Trying too hard voids success Success comes through perseverance
Least competent overstate their ability Highly skilled understate competence
All medicines have a placebo effect Distrust medicines until they work
Being less obsessed, detached wins out Success comes by focusing on your goals
Spend more to save more, buy quality Buy cheap, good things, nothing lasts forever.
No luck in success, just hard work The more you try the luckier you become.
Double down, double speak, double's the way -
Louder through shouting with nothing to say.
Offensive, repressive, suppressive and more
Talking over others is what they aim for.
Implying, decrying, a full range of crap -
The longer it goes the more strident the yap.
If one stops to listen, there's nothing but blur -
A slip and a slide - an occasional slur.
It's not like the "dozens" straight out of the Hood,
It's only shrill noise that amounts to no good.
A stark waste of time in a smug endless spew -
Ranting and raving - no due to ensue.
Detractions, distortions all hyped in the fare
Of deflecting words used with nothing to spare.
Well prepared and practiced - a long-standing trait
That takes all the air out of any restraint.
Some people excel - make a living this way.
They babble and ramble and use up the day.
With something to be said for nothing at all -
They pursue their bluster - with plenty of gall.
One day some will ask what their guff was about -
A double take standard through newly found doubt.
Left silent with their thoughts there's just empty space -
And nothing to say - a most humbling disgrace.
But, don't feel bad, don't feel sad at this self-shun,
It's what they deserve - it's their place in the sun.
With no crap to spin there will be no rebirth.
So thus, just remember what nothing was worth.
In a vehicle, once more this month. Though not going as far as the palm trees, my stomach’s lurching left and right. The baby’s alright! He coos from time to time as we weave through lovely soil and vines. My cousin with his bawdy jokes, his wife with eyes like gears, up to the roof of the party van. The pulley of emotions in full range, the laughter and tunes fogging up the window panes.
We’ve been here before, though time changes the “whos.” Dad’s still with us and enjoying beers and grins with the menfolk. Still, I find I stick by his side. This has been so, since Mom died. There is a rhythm and flow to this.
We head up into the mountains of Georgia. I can’t tell you where we’ve been except for the one sign I see out the window. It says “White County” and “Courthouse Museum.” That two-tone image, a bit scary!
Bumping along, drinking soda; and polka, the choice of my Dyngus Day-relations. Holding onto my tummy, closing my eyes on this first leg.
The sight of vines, pruned and neat. Almost to our first stop. Let me out…let me out. Makes us want to shout. The driver of the vehicle is not a stranger. My brother-in-law’s a limo driver. Picks up some big names, but of that part of his life, we can’t participate…who cares. We hear a few stories. How sweet he is to drive us to wine country. Aren’t we the lucky ones. Bulbs still flash to take numerous pics and yes, many get posted, but the paparazzi cares not to follow us.
The loveliness of the day, like bulbous and sweet grapes, picked and prepared to meet our sips, to toast our happiness. This outside venue takes us away on a mini vacation, a treasure to share with our relations.
Snack trays arrive along with red and white. This mini jar of honey, divine, tastes sweet as sugar. We have crackers, meats, even a green-tinted cheese, could be coniferous…
All those sparkling glasses like a family circle, filled, sipped. Later, we do it again, at another vineyard, sitting in wooden chairs next to a woodpile. It is lovely there, as well. All in all, we were out for nearly twelve hours, and there was more, much more time spent.
Thankfulness for this family outing. A sweet memory that will last.
She is elusive, shy, anticipated
by a waiting world - perhaps too much,
in that she hides herself reluctant to
appear - delicate as the first leaves
her gowns of petals now unfold, nascent,
her dormancy no longer secret bursts
forth greenness like a miracle untold
into each imagination.
Maybe the world’s coaxing makes your appearance
worthwhile - for under grassy banks are
daffodils to adorn your hair, sweet, pastel
beauty - you decorate every where,
spring, spring, spring.
Suzanne Delaney
I changed this from a free Verse poem to a Blankverse.
Tell me which version worked best, Thanks
First version Here:
S P R I N G M U S E
She is elusive, shy
anticipated by a waiting world
Perhaps too much,
in that she hides herself
reluctant to appear.
Delicate as the first leaves
her gowns of petals unfold
nascent, her dormancy no longer secret
greenness bursts forth like a miracle untold
into each imagination
Maybe the world’s coaxing
makes your appearance worthwhile
Under grassy banks daffodils adorn your hair
Sweet, full range of pastel beauty you decorate
Every where, spring, spring, spring.
It crept up on me, but I didn't mind.
No one was to blame, so calm and sublime.
I had a firm conviction, that far behind.
Still in sync: never gives credit or rhyme.
Old trees are covered in a layer of frost.
owing to the trembling of their leaves.
Reach from echoes, arms bare prize was lost.
Little Robin profoundly inwardly, grieves
Lost spirits, wandering the ages in despair.
Aimlessly heading down into the darkness.
In hopes of eluding the suffering and care.
Were staring but went on mute sharpness.
My full range of speech and mind is so sublime.
Might not bring you fairness with logic or rhyme.
Written: April 09, 2023
There’s an aged Eastern cedar tree
not far from the steps of my back door.
Enormous and quite old it harbors
a full range of flora and fauna
that have sought refuge amid its arms.
I reckon it soars 60 feet high
with an amazing 30-foot girth.
In winter, frosty mist on needles–
faux snow covers its verdant branches–
although it remains green winter-long
Welcoming woody fragrance in Spring
attracts curious creatures of trees–
working tirelessly to build their homes
in the evergreen’s burgeoning boughs–
a comfortable coniferous cool residence.
The cardinals staking my feeders,
fluffed and braced against the chilling cold–
medallions, red on silvery green–
Christmas’ reverberant Friendship Tree
reminds me of friends and family.
My enduring evergreen shares its
sheltering arms and embraces all
who come, as a nurturing mother
providing food, comfort, and kindness
to any seeking safety within her.
Curtains open in Bastion's Castle...
Fortification of great entertainment
designed for a full range of distraction.
It's still in good fashion....
Curtains designed at the hempline,
short and cute they flank their faces,
avoiding voids in centered spaces.
Flat and low to the ground encloses
host of a Court in the round.exposes...
Cut that station it's just too a.cute!
Bastian plays in a structured flute.
Flanked gorgeous this Demi-Goddess
of irregular poly.songs wall.us.
~Don't scare us~
The Curtains just opened. And fair it is!
Oppositely nefarious and rather glorious
is a Shakespeare.Ein version of the Obvious.
~A Stage Called Hilarious~
Form:
Seven Morning Stars
In the western Carpathian piedmont
Which my grandfathers left long before,
The peregrine falcon flees likewise
From a tableau of fresco tradition,
Superstition, and tempera myth.
The me of then bested the alpine pass
Where Hannibal lost his eye.
The I of now has met equal regard,
Evoking the grim determination
With which Henry took Harfleur.
Astronomical winter commences
With numbing indifference.
Indifferent as I am to distraction,
Focused on habits of antiquity
And methods of calm consistency.
A Zen ritual neatly informed
By the flowing advent of water.
Frictionless as lighthouse mercury.
Liquid in form and function.
A fluid collaboration of body and mind.
A calligraphy of sinewy limbs
In an illuminated manuscript
Documenting Sanskrit whispers
Keeping the humors in balance
Aligned with the pace of breathing.
A disciplined manual of arms and legs.
A pacifist drill exhibiting military precision,
Casting well-aimed volleys and salvos.
Performing atheist miracles.
Conjuring Merlin-like spells.
Mastering all the rumored labors
And sundry assorted tasks,
I claim my rightful inheritance
In this temple of redemption
Where one cannot tell Zion from Babylon.
THIS SPACE RESERVED FOR
FULL RANGE OF MOTION, BALANCE, AND CORE STRENGTH TRAINING
A prisoner she’s not - breaks out of cage.
In absence of spotlight, still darkness fades.
We’re thunderstruck, she’s breathtaking on stage.
Audience favorite, her star pervades.
Her proverbial voice does shatter glass.
In absence of spotlight, still darkness fades.
A full-range tone, full of comedic sass,
as she sings, “Good Morning, Baltimore,” gold.
Her proverbial voice does shatter glass.
A bow and bounce of curl, her “Hairspray,” bold.
My soul is moved, my eyes are proud with tears,
As she sings, “Good Morning, Baltimore,” gold.
Her lilting song: “I Can Hear The Bells,” cheers
With heart and soul, with angel’s wings, their lift.
My soul is moved, my eyes are proud with tears.
A bashful child no longer hides her gift.
A prisoner she’s not - breaks out of cage,
With heart and soul, with angel’s wings, their lift.
We’re thunderstruck, she’s breathtaking on stage.
5/6/2022
LITTLE THINGS #1:
Learn how to love the little things:
Below, above, and all life flings.
Sunlight and rain, a windy day,
Pleasure and pain beyond mere say.
Watch how things change abrupt yet clear,
See the full range of fear and cheer.
Dawn and sunrise, dusk and sunset,
Foolish and wise, wins and lost bets.
Sense deep meaning in the seasons,
Sync good feelings without reason.
Bask in warm smiles, or touch a child,
Waltz weary miles, act weird and wild.
From time to time, share of your fill,
Cast ample rhymes as love reveals.
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
16 February 2016
Singapore