Long History Poems
Long History Poems. Below are the most popular long History by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long History poems by poem length and keyword.
Virginia is a bread-and-butter woman.
She reckons by the Farmers’ Almanac.
She welcomes you with southern inhibitions,
Then gossips to her friends behind your back.
Virginia goes to church each Sunday morning,
And sings about the gospel’s golden light.
Her business with the pastor needs no mention,
Except that she’s the minister’s delight.
Virginia’s is a complicated history.
Her family tree has dark and tangled roots.
Her forebears helped defend the Old Dominion
From Yankees and discrimination suits.
Virginia has prescriptions for her symptoms.
The treatment is expensive to maintain.
Her daddy owns a pharmacy in Leesburg,
So Ginny has no reason to complain.
Virginia never had a favorite lover.
She handled every paramour the same.
She’d coyly tease their egos’ false assumptions,
And trample on their feelings like a dame.
Sic semper tyrannis.
S ee this new time we are in - this strange sedentary society, sitting
I n rooms, on subway trains, and nearly everywhere with some device in hand.
G one are the days of friendly oral chatter.
N owadays folks chat to friends across the room from them while. . .
O n their phone, they send their friend a text as they continue
F iddling around with phones so great their names begin with Smart.
T humbs have become the most exercised appendage.
H ow can people, everywhere it seems,
E ven survive without technology's advancements?
T heir family meals also find them often on their cell phones.
I nformation rules the day, but what of conversation with with their parents?
M odern man has come so far that
E mptiness threatens to entomb the souls of those
S tuck in the time of the world's most accelerating "progress."
April 27, 2018 for John Hamilton's Sign of the Times" Poetry Contest
(oops, had to quickly add in the word "of")
Fear is life's only true opponent
Fear is a clever treacherous adversary
It is known throughout history
It has no decency
It respects no law or society
And above all, it shows no mercy!
It searches for the weakest spot
It finds it quickly and then it
Puts your life in a knot
Fear begins in the mind and
Makes you blind to the power of your destiny
Fear disguises itself in doubt and
This gives way to the avenue of disbelief
Fear brings a level of anxiety
As your emotion starts to weaken
Soon you forget that there is a beacon of hope
You think you cannot cope but
In reality, you are stronger than any storm
As an individual of time, the heart must
Reach its prime against all odds!
The sun sets as evening approaches but
Nothing can stop the sun from rising in the morning
And even though fear is life’s only true opponent
Hope is ever present and hope shines in the darkness
Mark Frank
Copyright 2023
the great unweaving
begins as dreams unravel
empires sleep guilded
lulled by their hollow splendor
blind to the moths in the weave
stone slowly crumbles
not in one thunderous fall
dropping piece by piece—
the keystone forgets its weight
the arch betrays its pillars
Where is the weaving?
Where have the threads gone?
The loom lies broken.
The emperor is bare.
crowds chant illusions
cheering the shimmer of silk
not woven by loom
nor hand-stitched into garments
the crowd wanted king to wear
corruption festers
when the powerful ingest
crowd praise as self-worth
with appeasement a banquet
served and eaten as divine
Who's to mend the weaving?
Who's to sew the threads?
The loom is still silent.
While spring waits ahead.
the breakdown follows
threads snapping like taut tendons
warp and weft collapse
history burns down to ash
toppled by incoming tide
the foreseen holds up
its mirror of shattered glass
for the crowd to see
each of their faces woven
into the emperor's shawl
there's the weaving gone
threads unpicked and torn apart
the loom lies silent
for us to stitch the same lies
into bare kings' threadbare cloak
Who's to mend the weaving?
Who's to sew the threads?
The loom's still silent.
While spring waits ahead.
We walked hand in hand
Towards the end of our land
Through the history of time
Our life - it felt sublime
You held me and I held you
A sweet embrace and lovely too
Our memories, less so
Mine have died.. oh long ago.
You are looking straight at me
Feeling pleasure, pain and glee
For the life you had with me
Together shared, near the sea.
When my eyes devour you,
I feeling pain and yes, love too
For I forgot what we have had
My memory.. it is so bad
But when we touch, emotions rise
With your heart I empathize
And I embrace your heart and soul
For in the end, we've reached our goal.
You reinvented me
giving me a rebel's energy,
providing license for my love to sing
the touch of your soul meaning everything,
From us wild words arose
speaking of history and stars we chose,
expecting too much of Destiny
venturing on through wilderness and purity,
Inspiration innocent in it's infliction
made us bleed for need of salted affection,
exhibitionists with effrontery for the eyes of etiquette
expressionism unfolding humanism from stellar grit,
When wisdom had no mercy
she was a woman feminine in fury,
wanting to be stronger than truth
when I said I love you she demanded no proof,
All she wanted was a pretty poem
poetry that brings happiness home,
so we made substance of swagger
feeding life gold mined from passion's matter -
J.A.B.
Once in four years
no matter how far
all the nations gather
regardless of borders
inside the stadiums
painted in different colors
chants heard from every corner
football lovers of all kinds
celebrating history being made
players from the best teams
from all across the world
Forty-eight in number
playing for the cup
match after match
Right on this field
Dreams will be shattered
Hardwork will be rewarded
Talent will be showcased
Once the whistle blows,
Fate will be decided
All will go home
One will bring it home
most of all,
this world cup is a farewell
to all our heroes
who will play well with all their heart
one last time
giving us memories to last forever
so when the game is over
no matter who wins
We will all bleed from our eyes
for all the legends
we will lose tonight
Now where do I begin
For the past is a great place to start
When clannish is what we became
Whilst adventure was growing in our hearts
Can you honestly imagine where we'd be
Inclosed in our internal peripheral
When one day it came to be
Someone peered over the wall
This step in our ancestral past
Gave way for the way we are now
Allowing interaction, two minds are better than one
Scratching our heads, and finding out how
The only way that this could happen
As we look around our daily lives
Is for us, having crossed borders
Letting imagination in us strive
It's 2012 and we take for granted
What our ancestors created from thought
We use and buy them without care
In reality, we're clannish, and bought
So close your eyes and imagine, something
Be it T.V. the Radio or the car
Lets applaud our Geographical borders, having crossed
We've only started, we have still to go far
thinking back
pulling out
putting on
vynil dressed in
a comfortable
coat
static free
stylistically
always came
with let me
roll up my sleeves
rummaging through
my own ancient
history believing
this is what i grew
up on and so
tapping my arm
finding a vein
i put the needle
on and within
me shoots
hot
things
forgotten
(my Mum always
twisting the knob
randomly to
today's station
[drum roll]
jazz
and
so we
would take
it in
not by
nose sniffing
but a russian
roulette of what
was played around
sometimes
symphonic
or r&b
whatever
i got my
kicks
off) and
follow
me
to the depths
if deeper
seeing
through my eyes
an album cover
more then
for me ****
at a young
age
Form:
At a poker table in a Deadwood saloon,
Wild Bill Hickok popped his last balloon.
He suffered the most ignominious of fates
while holding black pairs of aces and eights.
Bill was unexpectedly shot in the back of the head.
“Crooked Nose Jack” McCall rendered Hickok dead.
Wild Bill was playing a game of five card draw.
His assailant was someone he never saw.
Since the Dakotas were in Indian country,
McCall could not be protected from double jeopardy.
A second trial convicted Jack McCall.
He was left hanging by his neck, and that was all.
This was one of the legendary tales of the West.
Wild Bill Hickok was more popular than most of the rest.
I thank wikipedia.org online encyclopedia for information I obtained to write this poem.