Long Groupings Poems
Long Groupings Poems. Below are the most popular long Groupings by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Groupings poems by poem length and keyword.
A flannel-washed-out school.
Unsullied nuns in a sullen line.
Again hearing the quacking of ducks
as new brown leathers shoes
stepped and skipped,
though skipping was a serious offense
behind the school fence.
London, eons ago,
a blighted borough
lost in the scant gravy
of rationed times.
Was I six, was I even aware
of my eyes? What they took in
or let out?
How to recall
what I was, or who all others were.
Ad hoc groupings of tabula rasa
jostling to be known
unto themselves.
We were collated, tagged, and fed,
led to cold block toilets
guarded by black and white sentinels
as we scrubbed ink off fingers
with bricks of green carbolic.
Rosery beads clicked impatiently
outside as a bride of Christ listened in.
Then were returned to the inky wells
to spill once more.
Blank slates were our minds.
I do not think anyone wrote on mine
or I on other slates.
When we stepped out of line
we were chastised by
a thin whip-lashing cane,
it was the way of our Lord
we were told.
Whimpers and snotty noses
from ill-nourished late developers.
We were an almost,
happy to be
that unquestioning flannel grey,
all quacking in a row
and waiting for the light.
In the sheltered shadows of dreams,
boundaries and limitations are nonexistent.
Imagination liquefies the ebony of space,
while thoughts swim amongst the stars.
And immersed in a sea of quietude,
silence suppresses sound;
amplifying the murmurs of silent thoughts.
And your restless pen leaks ink, leaving a trail
of dribbles down the face of time
somewhere in your subconscious mind.
Dodging distractions,
while avoiding the perils of indifference:
feelings, untethered from reality, are allowed to roam free.
And a plethora of poetic musings
morph into verses and stanzas;
as vowels and consonants stand shoulder to shoulder
culminating in groupings of witty words.
And upon awakening, an outpouring
of creativity and talent
gleaned from your heart and soul;
bleeds onto the page, and a poem takes form.
I have over 400 comic books
with groupings of
Wolverine, Dead Pool, Doctor Strange,
Carnage, Moon Knight, Spider-Man,
Godzilla, Batman, Hellboy, Spawn,
Captain America and Ghost Rider
so who do I select to follow and read the most
yes, it would certainly be the Red Skull
so why would I select this man of hatred and evil
to be my muse
why do I stack his comic books by my laying ground
why am I obsessed and enthralled by such a villian
it's because people see me as they see him
an outcast, a loser, a man on a mission alone
no, I am not evil, but my past jokes portray me this way
no, I do not hate, but my actions have painted me awry
I wear a Red Skull t-shirt everyday
and am thinking about getting a tattoo of him
so people will know that I'm an innocent child
blessed by God but hated by the masses
Captain America can try to take me down
I have a couple lives left to spare as does the Red Skull
we are not one
but we are the same
hated, abused, shunned and disliked
so spend your time drinking your tea
I'll be reading and enjoying my Red Skull comics
Oh Contention civil liberties that I so mention
enduring the cooperating social groups non-functional
non-binary confused disrupted abused circumstance
non-existent analytical disagreements freed
my people in cage my people members
who have developed organized patterns
of structural broad groupings people having
common traditions non-biased institutions
method of organized people
~
The tyrants ruling feeling society and politics do not mix
~
Disagreeing with my philosophy
total anarchy substitution revolution
freedom of speech
but I can't spell forcing my opinion
but I can't talk walk in my purpose but I'm in a wheelchair
Society and politics a aggregated people living together
in a more or less orderly community
endangered species lying in the feces
Mason's abroad uprising institutions collective activities
~
freed men bond and free township cities and villages
determine how people live who am I to tell you how to dress
what food to eat or what to believe in method
Oh! of organized people
The way we govern only the few govern the masses
speak but only the few government
am I Democrat Republican or independent
in my fascist pig what right do I have socialite metaphoric independent communist revolutionist the way that countries are governed
the ways that countries make rules and laws
The tyrants ruling feeling society and politics do not mix
~
to manage humanity in an invisible border
properly rule and govern anti-corruption
transparency arms control climate and environment
combating drugs and crime countering terrorism
cyber issues economic prosperity
the Green party Libertarians Constitutional Party
Law in Order National Law party
all of these them laws governs choice mandated opinion
argumentative what are you...
~
The tyrants ruling feeling society and politics do not mix
10/24/23
For society and politics Poetry Contest
Robert James Liquori
Gracefully gliding, reaching you in sky,
Chasing all notes on air in sublime rhyme,
With shining leotard, my wish is to fly.
I feel every rhythm from time to time,
The sweet smiles lift every spirit so high,
My magic fingers draw a paradigm.
Tiptoeing on the ice, so cold and dry,
Most chilled pirouette, impressive in sight,
Everyone wishes me for one more try.
“My picture”, I look wistfully in sigh,
I stand with shaking knees, my dance is wry.
Aug. 17,2013 11.05pm
by Leonora Galinta
Note:
Terza rima is a verse form composed of iambic tercets (three-line groupings). The rhyme scheme for this form of poetry is "aba bcb cdc, etc." The second line of each tercet sets the rhyme for the following tercet, and thus supplying the verse with a common thread, a way to link the stanzas.
My first terza rima poem. This poem was late for the contest with the theme, "Picture Perfect" so I entered it in the other contest.
Third Place
Contest: Metrical Verse
Judged: 9/20/2013
Sponsor: Poet Giorgio Veneto
"Running through a mile of wasted compiled vile
I find myself conflicted sitting in a position
groaning I'm foul planting a seed of tan and brown
the snake comes out of me and it flees deposited manure
Gastly every movement is not pure, sometime it's deterred
so now I gravitate as I clasp my cheeks
out from the plummets from the tests intestinal ...
verbiage I'm not on my knees
Yet, yes I bow down bowel comes out of me
What I just planted was healthy indeed
it was a groupings of so many seeds
running in through my garden
or would you pardon
Me as I sit posture above a toilet
and now I let Go of the grouping for you see is my bowels moving
My waste has been displaced
into a porcelain throne filled with water clear
as I touch the handle it's spirals down
Maneuvered Manure
the tunnel to eventually become one with the sewer"
The fake isolation of the island insinuated the fostering of remnants;
remnants of religious fervor, close knit seafaring families, and rugged farmers;
remnants of power past and present.
A fog shrouded canvass awaits the onslaught of August revelry.
And, where widows walked the peeks of robber barons manses, the elementals now play.
Tomato red fire trucks ring the seaside green. Throngs of , oh so, polite W.A.S.P.S
and multicultural couples dot the lawn in precise groupings.
The squeal of stroller strapped toddlers echo across ocean
and down alleyways lined with painted ladies
Gay blades and saucy sisters saunter unharassed through the crowds of young families.
Prosperously retirees with salt and pepper hair in pink and green golf shirts line the porches
of the gingerbread homes ringing the green.
In the gazebo a brass band plays John Phillip Souza and closes by belting out
the American anthem, after dark, no flag wave, yet random patriots stand.
Their forms silhouette upon the gray fog like their intentions
mocking the holiday aire with their reminder of war….
those raging on in Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan and Pakistan.
and fade with the crowds roar to “Sit down your blocking the view!”
And as the elite, and privileged meet and greet chatting in wonder over the multiple sightings
of airforce one choppers and past President Clinton.
The three times the worlds average wage is spent on FIREWORKS, frivolously,
for the entertainment of the richest citizens of the planet. God Blessed America.
I learned to swim in waters of amoeba
You shout "Regarde!" as I float to the surface
But it's far from Paris in this viscous river
Your hands of guidance turned to scoffs
Trading my pain for stacks of coins~
I no longer hear the crowds beg for mercy
Forced to nurse groupings of septic cells
My chest covered in ripples and blisters
The wet nurse of a generation of youth
Doctor, how come I must be a vessel?
Because my skirt fell above my knees
My womb is no factory of steel
All of this for more soldiers to train
For the crippling economy and labor
Why must your wealth stay tightly packed?
I will never earn my dress of white
Men of our nation will deem me impure
Forever a mandatory mother, never a wife
My body shall remain my own
Free of your legislature~
Playing with Forms while Breaking the Norms
Debuncking it
Slam duncking it
Saying “the old is gold”
ain’t nothing but junking it
“new is true blue” is cool a way of funking it
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
To argue that there is one better form
is to express your preference for a norm
Yet free expression is the soul’s delight
It matters not if it’s considered “right”!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Various garments
Beautify the human form~~
Poems follow suit
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
To copy well the Bard, this verse I write
Pentameter delight in every line
For poems come to life in rhythmic bursts
A soul can truly thrive in metered bliss
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
People are perplexed about poetic perfection:
forms frustrate!
Lauding laureates,
each writer rightly responds
To testimony of time
from past to present
The wonder of words defies
Limitations! Configurations! Stipulations!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I write because if I don’t
I’ll die
My little words
My little rhymes
in no way profound
flutter about forlorn
waiting to be welcomed in
to find a home
in some welcoming heart,
my grief and pain
my joy and laughter
will resonate
will live
will be treasured
I write what I please
my melancholy muse, I amuse
Afflatus caressed
I express
the many lives I live
and in my lines
in my little groupings of thoughts
I am free
Unbound….
I am me
Eileen Manassian
Form:
The end of the world what would that be
the fall of a star, the rise of the sea?
Perhaps, all the better, for other than we,
if mankind was dismissed by Higher decree.
The fall of a star, the rise of the sea
These things have happened before surely.
There was a sorting, a winnowing of we,
As well as the plants and the animals free.
Perhaps, all the better, for other than we
The graceful dolphin may they long sortie
When the Earth is water they’ll be jamboree.
These kind hearted creatures a new Pharisee.
If mankind was dismissed by Higher decree
Would we all be above and fly fancy-free?
No one knows, no matter, we can disagree
In the end, the Earth’s fate is not up to we.
*Monorhyme layed out in quatrains with the first 4 lines
forming the first line of the last 3 groupings of 4.