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.
I thought I had all I needed,
I rested on my oar,
I thought all had been mended,
I had everything to soar.
Naïve and inexperienced I was,
Someone had to put me through,
It was a different battlefield and the wars,
Were not what I thought was true.
The instructions came at the eleventh hour,
Nothing much to salvage,
I couldn’t be pulled up the tower,
I had caused permeable damage.
I fought to get back on my feet,
All was to no avail,
There were a plethora of requirements to meet,
I ran but didn’t entirely prevail.
I have laboured for others,
Gave all my time and left my desires,
Opportunities came but like toddlers,
I didn’t see the current flowing through the wires.
I'm on a full-scale run,
Before the door closes on my turn.
April 2, 2022.
My Foolish Heart Cash Prize Poetry Contest.
L. Milton Hankins.
You hastily spilled a loaded jar of stained language.
Sky aglow by a rainbow, as sunsets below a ledge.
Pouring a layer of dullness into a pristine scene.
Murky clouds have drowned the gentle sunshine.
Unscrupulous guarantees, sand-tidied venturing,
And the heart will stow away in the way they review.
In the azure sky, golden rings are instantly plunging.
Blackbirds crow around humans peacefully withdrew.
Storm haze from a weakening typhoon stream.
Realizing the window curtains inhibit late-day sun.
This fear involves a torrential downpour dream.
Nowhere for adoration untamed stallion to run,
He wanders around this forsaken dust bowl land.
Without a stated objective, just a promise in hand.
Dreams of enigmatic and utterly ease dry,
The rises speak culpability as they move away.
Written; December 26, 2021
A fearful mind approves each deft move.
As a roving lout, I have a soft spot and am sensitive.
Your clarion call ought to be a full-scale disorder.
I'm weaving dim deceptions over my slander.
A mural painter? Why not? I asked myself.
My husband was inside, glued to a Lazy-Boy recliner
watching five TVs simultaneously.
He would not have a fit about something he did not see, right?
How often does he come to the porch anyway?
I began to plot out my legacy, something to leave the family.
To reassure them that their assessment of me is sound.
I am crazier than a mouse running into a cat’s mouth.
I was grinning as wide as I have ever grinned, as I plotted.
Drawing my ideas out in full scale, with pencil.
What to plan? Faeries, dragons, witches, gypsies, unicorns too.
All of my canvases are done in cartoon form; I am a natural at this.
I wanted more colors though, at least twenty of them.
I took inventory of my mural paints – red, black, gold, green, pink, blue.
Ordered sixteen more colors; this is going to be gloriously gaudy.
My sister came over when I was drawing the idea out in pencil.
It was going to be large; fifty feet long; covering the entire back of the house.
“I wouldn’t paint siding if I were you,” she said prissily.
Good thing she isn’t me, isn’t it?
And good thing she did not know my husband was home.
She is a tattle-tale in addition to being brazenly bossy.
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.
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
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.
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.
“A Diary of Occupation”
Vakulenko Volodymyr’s last work
(Banned in Ukraine) eastern part 20%
Diary of Volodymyr Vakulenko — painful and true records that the writer kept from the beginning of the full-scale invasion and during the occupation of Izyum and his native village of Kapitolivka in Kharkiv Oblast.
Dangerous to the Russian occupation force
A bright and cheery children’s book writer’s remorse
He said on the tenth day of occupation FSB
“It’s who you remain during all of this”
Then, buried his manuscript underneath a cherry tree
My heart sinks when I think of Vakulenko and Victoria
A Poet, a journalist in this bloody war
This is about a writer who’d know what was in store
His hand-written manuscript's underground in his backyard
Russian troops surround his village put him on guard
His life stolen they would pillage, his books
found and burned and captured him
O Vakulenko, we’ll carry your script in our bosom
Following his death and the liberation of Kharkiv
Victoria the one his journal of the war would retrieve
Her book of Ukrainians who wrote on the war, her mission
Was killed in an air strike
Her books by Russia deemed sedition
Worried he would be tortured or killed,
in the black Ukrainian soil
Her life was also taken in turmoil
Ukrainian man in a war-torn country
Today I honor thee
Your words shall be read
Around the world spread
America like Russia may do the same
Banning such books unconscionable shame
Mere mortal body has to die, but what of mind?
Brain transplants are defeated by mortal neurons, that will all eventually age and fail.
Uploading minds to robot super computer brains, is immortality's holy grail.
For conscious mindful robot bodies can become the new mankind.
Abandoning frail mortal flesh to dust in grave, or ash in smoke, consigned.
You can replace your robot host with the latest model each year, for an image refresh and tech upscale.
Your mind downloaded from brain to computer can be uploaded, again and again, full-scale.
The mind-file then can then live forever, immortal mind to replaceable robot body, uploaded and maligned.
But what would it be like to live inside a metal box forever?
With metal arms and legs covered in fake skin, denied the thrill of flesh,
Without the sensual joys of touch and feel, of imbibing food and drink, and all other such pleasure.
Would a life immortal in a tin can be worthwhile, even with regular robot refresh?
Despite all the simulations, gadgets, fake this and that, would this really be the answer?
Or is mind so tied to mortal body that a senseless mind, immortal in computer chip, could never really mesh?
My life changed forever after Xavier told me the following news
He told me he wanted to join me in the Australasian Antarctic Expedition
He was highly recommended- his offer, I just couldn't refuse
To make this journey one must be in top physical condition
Xavier, myself... and Belgrave (Cherub) Ninnis a Greenland Husky dog trainer set sail
Aboard the Sy Aurora with forty-eight dogs we sailed to Hobart
Every piece of equipment, clothing and necessity had to be top-notch and full-scale
Drinking alcohol and smoking were a no-no... off chart
On November 10th, we skied to the first site- Aladdin's Cave
Whilst on the trail, blizzard conditions separated Ninnis from me and Xavier
Forty-two of the huskies we're killed by avalanche, only six could we save
And little did we know that Ninnis would be gone; forever
Xavier and I and the six remaining huskies went through our food supply very fast
Until we had no choice, so, one-by-one... we ate the dogs
I ask myself- "Am I the blame of what happened in the past?
Or- was it all of our fault for not checking our travelogues
I am Douglas Mawson, and I am the only survivor of the three
Yes, my life had changed when I lost my friends forever
Remember them as you read through my autobiography
And rest assure, I will not forget my days with them- never