Long Full scale Poems
Long Full scale Poems. Below are the most popular long Full scale by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Full scale poems by poem length and keyword.
Right when I thought I had figured things out,
FEAR sauntered in and introduced DOUBT.
The twins came over, DISMAY and DESPAIR.
Then APATHY appeared. Does anyone care?
DISGUST and DISDAIN knocked on my door.
DISILLUSIONMENT laughed at what was in store.
ENVY and PRIDE cried unanimous cheers.
DOOM and DESPERATION were invoking my fears.
DEFIANCE brought a sign reading, “Come watch him fall.”
A gruesome and grotesque masquerade ball.
A party complete full of Demons and Ghouls.
This chaotic nightmare was void of all rules.
I ventured outside away from the noise,
despondent by actions that EVIL employs.
I sat on the porch with my hands on my face.
The stench of DESTRUCTION dispensing DISGRACE.
I cried out, “Dear Lord, what more can I do?”
I jumped when a voice said, “It’s all up to you.”
I gathered my senses and offered a seat
to an elderly woman, who lived down the street.
“That’s quite a party you seem to be throwing.”
I nodded my head, “It just keeps on growing.”
She leaned in and whispered, “They run in packs,
carefully planning these full-scale attacks.”
I asked her the reason they all showed up here?
She said, “You empowered the illusion of FEAR.
Without you to help them, their power is weak.
They gather up strength from words that you speak.
What you don’t understand, regardless it’s true,
GOD gave authority over Demons to YOU.”
Something made sense in what she had said.
She changed the perceptions I had in my head.
So, I stormed in the house with COURAGE and PEACE,
screaming, “It’s over! This party must cease!”
CONVICTION paraded as FAITH filled my heart.
In the name of JESUS, I demanded they part!
Their revelry turned into howling and shrieks.
A bellowing ANGST echoed out from the peaks.
They whined and moaned but followed command.
HOPE cleansed the room and TRUTH took a stand.
My new found friend was no longer there.
I shouted out “Thank You!” into the night air.
Hearing my commotion, “For what?” asked my wife.
“Your church-lady friend may have just saved my life.”
“You mean GRACE?” she questioned, “Didn’t you know?”
“GRACE went to heaven almost two weeks ago.”
I took her hand and we knelt down to pray,
thanking GOD for the POWER in WORDS that we say.
Journey Journal Page
CODE MY ODE
By Leon Enriquez
I pen my writes
With mystic ink
As words I cite
Seed what I think
I craft my lines
With simple rhymes
As I feed fine
Crisp rustic chimes
~~~~~~~~~
The words ooze fast
In sensuous feel
Now first to last
In cast that spills
Prize thoughts that float
Across my mind
As if to bloat
Deep profound finds
~~~~~~~~~
The way of ease
In glimpse of lot
Moves joy and lease
In verse I slot
An ode of verse
With profound play
As I observe
The Milky Way
~~~~~~~~~
Clouds drift and dot
Upon dream stay
Where fate grooms lot
On this my way
In steep deep trip
Ink stains cursive
Move fingers’ grip
Wit verse that live
~~~~~~~~~
The writer’s craft
Starts with a thought
In tensile draft
As rhymes allot
I rise and shine
With happy grudge
To stay what’s mine
With words that nudge
~~~~~~~~~
Words have a way
To state my case
Etch truth that stays
Upon rhyme base
Forge hue and tint
That colours shade
Word art blooms mint
As rhymes now trade
~~~~~~~~~
The winding road
Where life goes by
Bears fate that loads
My weary sighs
Cheer and gloom set
My lovely fest
Where gambling bets
Attune with quest
~~~~~~~~~
Words juggle well
With poesy here
In a strange tell
To cluster near
Words in a gush
Stream on full scale
As muse must rush
Fine course of gale
~~~~~~~~~
So here’s my ode
As rhymes now show
Risk sanguine code
As mode thus grows
Music grooms lines
In show-and-tell
Where words incline
True yarn that dwells
~~~~~~~~~
In gall or brine
Feel the outburst
Rhymes attend lines
In soul’s own thirst
Words on a page
Convey and hint
Upon the stage
Of feel that mints
~~~~~~~~~
Feel sad or mad
Upon these shores
Feel good or bad
Or odd once more
Words paint a sketch
Of feel and think
As if to match
Strange fate that links
~~~~~~~~~
Here for a while
My moments cull
A certain style
In touch not dull
Ode in pure mode
Now captures time
To craft deep code
In poignant chimes
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
07 January 2024
Singapore
The universe creaks on tiny, sublime hinges.
Time swings in space-time, frayed at the fringes.
Each squeal is a cipher, a riddle to implore,
For a small iron whisper that unlatches the door.
Dreams swing on hinges where memory's ghosts hide.
Half-truths and illusions roll in with the tide.
They glimmer, they scatter, they beckon once more,
Through half-open gateways, and a half-open door.
A rusty hinge is furious; it moans with all its might.
It groans with a grinding burden too heavy to fight.
Its sorrow is relentless, its voice a grating roar,
A fracture that longs to close, bolting the door.
Each heartbeat has a hinge to swing open, recall.
It shuts out sorrow, but lets joy in, to all.
Its hinge chatters; it flutters; it listens for clues.
To filter what enters the soul's drive-through's.
At dusk, the day's bronze hinge is on standby.
Day sinks into silence; the night awaits its reply.
Timing is delicate; a groan, a whisper, or a song,
As fleeting shadows find rhythm and shuffle along.
The mind is a doorway that swings in late breezes,
It opens, it closes, it pants, it begs, as it pleases.
From folly to wisdom, from basement to high spire,
A small hinge of thought can spark reason’s fire.
Love leans on its hinges, both weak and true,
It squeaks when neglected; it splinters into two.
But kindness can oil it, and faith guards the door,
So two hearts on hinges can swing together some more.
The past lies in a doorway with hinges of stone,
It groans when it opens, it sighs when it’s shown.
Yet memories linger on, they hunger for more,
Knocking for entry to door still locked as before.
The future is waiting on hinges yet to be seen,
It echoes in light beams, with glimmers between.
Each moment is a sneak preview of what's in store,
Through cracks in the door, that has not been opened before.
So marvel at the mighty hinge, with its knuckles and a nail.
It carries the key to enabling life to be at full-scale.
With a sneak preview, a whisper, an echo, or a roar.
Each tiny hinge sets things in motion; it opens the door.
Sam Adams Goes Down the Rabbit Hole, NaNoPoMo Prompt
Sam Adams was having a bad night
He often would fall into a deep trouble sleep
Where his mind would go down deep
Into the proverbial rabbit holes
Exploring one dark nightmare
After another.
He saw himself in Ukraine
As a front line soldier
Watching the Russians
Come in killing people
Left and right.
Saw the Russians line up
And execute men
Raping women and children
Setting the victims on fire.
Then he was in the U.S.
When the nukes began to fall
All over the world
Armageddon on steroids.
Nuclear madness erupted
The Russians bombing NATO allies
The US, French and British firing back
Berlin, DC, London, Moscow became
Nuclear graveyards.
China bombs Taiwan,
Then invades the island.
India and Pakistan trade nuclear attacks.
Iran attacks Israel and Saudi as well.
North Korea invades the South
Nukes flying over Seoul
And Tokyo
Amid this total madness
Giant ships appear in the sky
And a full scale
the alien invasion begins.
.
The terrified survivors
flee the carnage
As nuclear winter
settles on the land.
The invaders from the sky
End the war
Enslaving most humans
That had survived.
Somehow Sam Adams and his wife
Were still alive
Living in a refugee camp
Deep in the mountains.
Fleeing the wild animals
The tigers, lions, and wolves
That were feasting on dead humans
And cattle everywhere.
The aliens following the humans
Looking for more to enslave.
The nuclear war though was over
The few remaining soldiers
Fighting against the common enemy,
Sam Adams woke up
Realizing that it was all
Just a nightmare.
Turning on the TV
Watching the carnage in Ukraine
He wondered if his nightmare
Was it an omen of the future?
April 6—Rabbit hole—start a poem on one topic, and let it lead you down a “rabbit hole” of discovery, burrowing into various topics, and maybe ending far, far away from where you started. (Let yourself research this one. Enjoy Google and Wikipedia!)
Therapeutic thoughts have feelings
of resonance and dissonance
as healing behaviors have internal beliefs
motivating
inspiring spirited resilience
and passions for love
surpassing anger,
compassion
conquering all dispassions,
positive attraction
reconnecting past negative distractions.
Feelings have internal colors
compassionate green health environments
and narcissistic snarky red hot interiors
and radiant blue light
and absorbing yellow warmth,
and many multiculturing other hues
and cries for resonant ultra-violet peace
with black and white and brown restoring justice
not so much grey-scaled punishments
for too liberally
compassionately coloring outside
proper eco-political WinLose lines,
social walls of propriety
against impropriety of full-scale wildly imaginative colors.
When I heard Caillou's white-speak mother
inform her son,
Red is the correct Valentine's color of love,
I knew this could not be my whole virtuous enculturing story
because red is also the color of bloody fraternity
and viciously escalating anger,
Healthy passioned red
or short-flaring diseased fear
of overpowering betrayal,
losing power to overcome
threats to green therapeutic self-portrayal,
regenerative esteem
virtuously red-blooded,
Surrounded and benignly invaded
by green nature,
yellow absorbing internal blue heedfulness,
caution,
discerning nurtured feelings
attributed by more dissonant color relationships
said and sung in virtuously harmonious major,
and viciously dissonant minor, keys,
round co-relational octaves of color
revolving rhythmic qualities fueling flow,
Morally affluent yang prescriptions
with ethically effluent yin descriptors
of exterior green sanctuary natures
with interior red-blooded
DNA ultra-violet
communicating nonultra-violent
recycling nurture wheels
of resiliently felt therapeutic thoughts.
Nero fiddled while Rome burning
A poet dead at home while singing
There lived a poet,a fisherman
In pain of cancer the hangman
No cure, beyond medication
A radio recorder,his last requisition
His spouse acquired it in no time to wait
Disposing a wardrobe,the only home mate
Lying his head on her laptop
Recording voice hurried up
Born a poem in pain of labour disturbing peace
"My heart is beating today in a rapid pace
Don't know it's calling bell for my demise
You took care of me all the time,my wife,in wise
River is flooded,sudden like a broken pipe
When the crop is still in ripe
The lives of you three on the point of knife
The lives of you three on the point of knife
My dreams crashed to pieces like a broken wind screen
Waving death near the bed is red not green
My last breath to cease before dusk
Darling,announce my demise to the village, in no luck
God bless you! in battle and the two little in kick
God bless you! In battle and the two little in kick
Nothing is left to consume at home
Without bothering others dome
Darling,carry our children in the path all went bright
Wipe out your grief in this belief at least to slight
No belongings saved for the death to grab along
No kith and kin with kind belong
No harm,hurry,
Remarry!
If the road is remote for you to drive and carry
If the road is remote for you to drive and carry
What to do at this late?
No gates found to get out of fate
Time has come nigh for my journey from this earth
You be my spouse also in my next of birth
Children..............,............!
Neighbors in vigilance of the pin drop silence proceeded
To witness the poet and his wife lying dead before the poem concluded
They found the radio still tuning in full scale
A poem in Sinhala in it told an untold tale
The whole village cried like rain with gale
The purpose of Nobel prize is in total fail!
Despite emotional, financial, grammatical...
any woe that doth assail
whereat early in the
morning until late at night tub bail
sinking craft, not possible
(essentially 24/7), I bewail,
where the fickle finger
of fate stationed me in life,
as if groping in the dark
unfamiliar with Braille
at heart though - directly predicted
on how yours truly did curtail
requisite healthy development of
body, mind, and spirit, yes analogous
to a train tragically did derail
in a near fatal
(scores of years ago) accident
(sorry no gory detail),
yet the impact still sorely felt
(argh...eek...ouch...all pains dovetail
actually more like subduction,
(way more powerful than deleting email),
sans plate tectonics geomorphism process
(a lengthy missive would entail)
full scale explanation, okay
in a figurative nutshell this, male
long (winded) fellow cannot Atlas
shrug off the belief he did fail,
and hopelessly embarked on
impossible mission to secure the Holy Grail
this state of mind linked to many pursuits
that metaphorically did fishtail
many objectives abandoned
finding me to flail
convincing myself at a
tender age incapable NOT gale
lent academically, athletically, avocationally...
thus many personal enterprises
witnessed a scared boy, hence best to hightail
further progress without testing potential,
I often ruminate, how aye did hobnail,
viz self imposed aversion to risk
on par with the most fortified jail
and one circumstance that
expunges burdensome junk mail
occurs basking under spray
as warm water doth prevail
cleansing, kickstarting, and
rejuvenating (albeit temporarily)
though some hours later...
back to choppy waves and torturous sail.
(10/13/12)
At the beginning of “64” - I packed up my uniform
And walked out the door- it was the beginning of
The Vietnam war.
By August of that same year
President Johnson started the draft
Under protests and jeers.
Then he made it a full scale war
And sent our soldiers to Vietnam shores.
The Beatniks in Greenwich village
With their long hair, beards, and
Flip flop sandals - wrote their poetry
About this undeclared war, and why
Our men were going to those shores.
This created a new generation called ‘HIPPIES”
The hippie generation was groups of protesters
Against everything that they found wrong
The draft , the war , pollution
And loved to stay high with pot, hashish
Coke and acid (lsd) which kept them blasted.
This also created the “ flower children”
Who like the hippies loved to be high
And on certain flowers they would fly.
But they spoke of loving one another
And gave out flowers as a sign of peace
Which to the president was a relief.
They all started painting this “53 Chevy impala”
With the words “ flower power”.
Now the “ flower children and hippie movement
Was in full swing, and everyone was doing their own thing.
They had Greenwich village under their control
And not one coffee shop would ever be sold.
Every coffee shop had a poetry night
And going there was such a delight.
Then in AUGUST of “69”
The WOODSTOCK festival was on the rise
Over half a million people drove to that farmland
And set up tents , hammocks, sleeping bags and such
And the police found it was much to much
So they had no choice but to see it through
Because there was nothing else that they could do.
The WOODSTOCK festival had become world wide
And to this day it still thrives.
© L . RAMS
In Sumer land, you first appeared.
A potent god, both loved and feared.
Queen of Heaven, joined to its lights.
Moon your father, Sun your brother.
Venus was your symbolic star.
You were too, a goddess of war.
Fierce, fiery, passionate, and proud,
violent storms raged in your breast.
Goddess of sexuality,
and patron of the prostitutes
Your worship involved sexual acts,
Your temple housed your prostitutes.
Enchantress you, and sorceress,
goddess of magic and of spells.
You spur desire and alter forms,
despising all societal norms.
You changed your face to suit your space,
And you are known by many names.
Ashtoreth, Astarte, Inanna,
Aphrodite, Venus are you.
You are a female and a male,
with power to transform and mar.
You turn a woman into a man
and a man into a woman.
You ruled the cultures of the past,
and held sway over regions vast.
But when the Christian message came,
men’s hearts were changed, and you lost fame.
Your temples famed relics became,
as worshippers no longer came.
Your cult faded as all cults do,
when men discover what is true.
You lost your lure for centuries,
while men to God their knees did bend.
But as their faith began to wane,
your fame you did, slowly regain.
You spurred a revolt on sex norms,
then inverted natural sex forms.
You blurred lines between the sexes,
breeding in minds that which perplexes.
Today you wage a full-scale war,
designed to destroy and to mar.
You plan to squash man’s soulish bent
and from him every virtue rent.
Wake up my fellow human beings.
Consider what these grim lines mean.
Ishtar wants to destroy your soul,
But God desires to make you whole.
In towns where Basic fantasy makes a frown
Nature has turned Completely upside down.
And day tours emigrate to the Cambrian shore
Onboard, the rivers boats from Windermere
moving between hills and trees, miles from home
where the boughs of orchard greens are overgrown.
From distance views are the dreams first caught,
But by wagon roads are the scenic marvels wrought.
Steep is the pass across from Eskdale to Hardknott.
The architect must create when the odds are Great.
And stand resolute by luck, for success, failure, or fate
Keep the faith Lyvennet flows alone to catch the bait.
In Crake valley the vision of dreams is made known
On Penrith curb they drove all the way back home.
from the distillation realm, everything looks foreign,
Solemn and determined, invoke quiet a snarling spell
Being the adventurer rage driving furiously out of hell,
With Lakeland Muse, ambush by cars on top of a hill.
Framed flaws lay beneath the religious camouflage
Shadows meandering when winding lanes diverge,
An envious world moonlight enriched into a mirage.
Out from the woods, alpacas and feral cats emerge.
Pale and pickled at the grunting grumbling core.
In lush Whitehaven vale oblivious of a full-scale war
Continued tours like silhouette building dunes
In embroidery gardens, beautiful flowers bloom.
Bumblebees, wasps, and flies have wooed and won,
The old man ‘Lakeland’, seated on its penitent throne
Crocked steam from Ulverston rises on the pond.
Another day meets the Crinkle Craggs of Lakeland.