Long Homer Poems
Long Homer Poems. Below are the most popular long Homer by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Homer poems by poem length and keyword.
The art of thought is our lovemaking connection,
histories a ladder to hypnotic healing, corrections uninvited
to our planet of puzzling passion
where a man and a woman make maps with crayons borrowed
from the cries of curiosity's cravings,
uncaring of the unwanted,
lawless in the laps of circumstance's tracks,
Homer & Tacitus imploring their heros to hush
as we warm arteries with a potion of Poetry unknown 'till now,
a tempest of truth she is to me,
teasing with pause & prance, with virtue & volatility,
with the caution of a Queen & frivolity of airborne feathers,
I did not ask for her, nor wish her to squeeze my heart,
regardless, I am now selfish, hunting for her hints
aspiring for the apple of her knowledge,
for the seed of her permission in my pulse,
I need her to sweat for my sweetness,
my will to hide abolished in the heat she spreads in spades,
I love my poet girl,
sometimes I am sorry for it, always excited by it,
sorriness skipping like a song wandering for a world with no wastings,
believing in beauty because she breathes,
I would tell God to wait so that I may play a moment more
with my poet girl, exchange another story, build another belief,
to bring our fears one step closer to nowhere,
to walk our eyelashes one centimeter nearer to completion's tear,
having our harvest support Heaven's uppermost tier -
J.A.B.
(for: Homer, the Greek Master)
Now, do you sit on these Grecian rubbles,
O, desert god of old Greek ruins!
Didst thou across this earth match
O, Homerus! the gods’ bright eye,
On whom many a mad mortal dares to spit?
Nature is joyed of your simple lute
Isn’t that good which you spoke?
Those gods in human passions,
Tho’ matching superhumanly,
Did breed real pathos and sublimity of existence.
Many a mortal contested your existence;
Let them contest of my songs;
You should only exist in songs?
Then, Athens was a tale –
You should be living now, O, Homerus!
The forest buds and grows in bitterness;
Seas weep for lack of adventures;
Lands are devoid of demigods;
Nights wail for your demise,
When a fading world fights in peace!
The mediocre is a crown prince;
The sick clays pose as perfect potters;
The fish now eat up the giant sea;
Do you rest, O deserted god?
Do you rest, Homerus, singer for the gods?
3
I have began the long songs, my Homerus
Ere, I stumbled at your shrine:
Yet, I ’gree you sang so well:
Yours are true cosmic scenes!
On the air, each bird sings your songs;
Tho’ young night wails for your demise;
Tho’ gone are those fable-eyed seas;
Earth is reborn of adventures,
In my wild cosmic songs –
Then, rest, rest, rest, who told lofty tales!
Form:
To read or watch movies, that is the question.
When tired at workday's end, depressed about death's
certainty and my recent surgery
unable to contribute purpose
i.e., figure out whether to bomb Iran
or worship Krshna
and other gods such as Homer gives us in the Iliad
I lack vision therefore I choose television.
Chemistry text, bifurcated plant key
esp. grasses, intro to calculus, physics
unopened time slides by inexorably.
That's the dilemma with no resolution,
drooping rachis, striations on the lemma.
Dying chooses you. You don't choose dying.
So go slow as the day will allow.
The cancer patient's real work is facing
harsh realities and making adjustments:
getting the most out of life, considering
what his children will need after he's gone,
preparing his wife, parents, colleagues and friends,
and completing important professional tasks.
Get the most out of life. That's all God asks.
In Life of Pi the tiger is tiresome, short-sighted
eating everything in sight today, no plan for tomorrow.
The boy, however, is beautiful, reading
the lifeboat manual, building a resting place on the ocean
from oars and life vests, writing about his emotions,
loneliness and observations. The tiger's obsession
with killing keeps our boy alive with fear,
an aphrodisiac, a distraction from any hint
of hopelessness. And then there is the ultimate unknown,
the boy's conversations with Krshna which explain
the innumerable stars and their gentle glow.
Poetic Form: Heptastich
I am
Aphrodite...
yielded from sea lather
and reached the shores of Cyprus on
a scallop's shell, symbol
of womanhood
and birth
I am
Aphrodite...
Homer sourced me as a
girl by Zeus and sea nymph, Dione,
and aphrodisiac
had influenced
my name
I am
Aphrodite...
a cause and effect for
incessant eyes aroused crusade
facing our guarded Mount
Olympus high
above
I am
Aphrodite...
unceasing prayers heard
by mere boldness and a taste test
from each sweeten apple
will direct me
to you
I am
Aphrodite...
petitions in the air
float endlessly, plucked graciously
by ivory doves to
be delivered
to me
I am
Aphrodite...
where I will recognize
you daily upon your first glance
into some looking-glass
beholding my
essence
I am
Aphrodite...
Olympian goddess
of love, beauty, procreation
also, satisfaction,
your every need
answered.
My happiness is overflowing
I do NOT really know where I am going
The destruction was WAY too much
Somehow, we became out of touch
Two times in my life I am grateful for
First, when YOU Said that you would be mine
The second time when you said the word Yes
I was out of line when you left
I was surrounded by darkness and alone
Truly, in the Lozer Zone
Yet, it is still the band
I can NOT play without you or have fun or be proud or even feel like a real anyone
They say I am codependent
Yet stuck on an island
I am now more than ever a broken man
It is NOT your fault though
I do NOT ever need any more time with any bros
When my heart feels you near it always glows
When you picked up the phone and gave me a future
I forever changed my ways and was NO longer a user
If you can forgive me now like you did then for following some stupid trend
I will begin to do even more and more things very differently
If who you want me to be is with you again
You will always have me in the end my closest friend
I life of commitment is what I wanted
We started out possibly in what some of these mojos would call sin
Yet, I would do it again
Loving you could NOT be even remotely compared to strumming this toted 6-string in the...
You called it Lozer Zone
Maybe, I made a ***** or two
Ended up acting like Homer Simpson and coming unglued
I can still hear in your voice two different people
We do NOT need a steeple to gather under to steep some good tea
For me to be me
For you to be you
For me to be true
Or for us to both be able to do what we want to...
I think that Sean along picked us and that was what he wanted too
Just saying, NOT spraying babe
Let me know what you want to do...
I will be there for you when you want me to
As far as the Valley of Hope NOT dope goes
Even the word Glen can be translated to valley dweller
Out of my own sick type of homemade wine cellar, I will tell yak...
I always hope for the better days and dwell on hope in many ways
Those lazy, fancy, prancy, antsy, or even the days we go dancing
I might as well name off some reindeer with that last rhyme
But this time, in as much time as it takes
I want you to feel the comfort I know you need so that you too can take some breaks
Is the Loch Ness Monster real?
Has anyone ever seen her?
I have never seen her,
Except on ‘The Simpsons’.
My family and I went on a boat trip on Loch Ness,
We never saw the Loch Ness Monster.
Many people have looked for her,
With binoculars and cameras.
When Mr Burns, Homer Simpson, Professor Frink and Groundskeeper Willie
Look for the Loch Ness Monster on ‘The Simpsons’,
They drain the loch until it is completely empty.
They capture her and take her to Springfield where they live.
Some people look for the Loch Ness Monster from the road,
Others look for her from a boat.
There are lots of possible sightings,
No one can be sure if they saw her or not.
They capture what they think is the Loch Ness Monster with a camera,
They don’t drain the loch like ‘The Simpsons’ characters do.
Draining the loch is not recommended,
‘The Simpsons’ characters do all sorts of silly things.
If you ever go looking for the Loch Ness Monster,
Take binoculars and a camera.
Don’t be silly like ‘The Simpsons’ characters,
Don’t drain the loch until it is completely empty,
Don’t capture her the way ‘The Simpsons’ characters did.
04/09/21
Back in the mists of time
Were stories sung
Where minds in thrall by minstrels
Were held
With tales revealing
Viscerality and viciousness
The currency of glory and shame.
Who does not marvel at
Achilles's pride
A ruthless killing machine
Unforgiving
In his revenge
For his beloved Patroclus
And shrink
At the terrible price paid
By brave Hector
Before the sorrowing eyes
Of his aged parents
Therein we see the splendour
As well as the grimness
When foes collide
With his wiles does daredevil Odysseus
Charm us
And inventive ruses.
Yet what horrors,hardship
And heartache
Were his
As homecoming was in his heart
With Poseidon vowing vengeance
Pain,pleasure and punishment
He met
In equal measure
Before rescuing
His priceless pearl
Penelope
From the rapacity and greed
Of the craven suitors.
These were the gifts
To posterity
Handed down
By Homer.
From these twin tales
There grew
The exploits of pius Aeneas
Driven from his homeland
War stricken
Driven by destiny
To seek a new home.
At the behest of Caesar
Did Virgil fashion his verse
Plundering Homer
That his hero
Would personal glory
and pleasure abjure
In a self -denying ordinance
To meet duty's demands.
Such self-denial cost him
Dido
Deserted and distraught
And brought him
Into the depths of Hades
From where he rose
A new man
With a deeper mission
To grace the world
With its master race,
That destiny ordained from above.
And we as readers must choose
The tale that to our soul sings
Touching our humanity
Both starkly
And with the tight tenderness
Of truth.
'twas in a room in Blandford, on a bright spring day
When a voice within my head a whispering, whispering to my dismay
For the voice grew from a whisper , and it would not go away
The voice was dry and eerie, Like demons from the days of yore
So I was emboldened and challenged, what want est from me thou this day
And the voice replied sadistically, I'm here to take you away
Now you have read of the raven, from the pen of Edgar Allen Poe
And i'm a relative of the raven, and our lord wants you to know
That poets like you, increase the spirit of mere mortal men
So i'm here to maybe frighten, even more to stop you writing
And to even stop thee from creating hero's, like the poets from days of yore
If to stop thee I must kill thee, then I am willing for its a dead I have accomplished before
As the evil voice was cackling, my mind aghast was flapping
Wondering if today would be my last, and if I was bound for Hades shore
Then a voice so soft and tender, cried out spirit I demand your surrender
And I looked and saw a hero, straight from Thermopalies blood red shore
Stood with shining sword and shield, it was a warrior from Spartan lore
and the voice in my head quietened, and I knew I was safe for sure
Safety is but an illusion, in a world of hurt and pain
Sometimes the only victory, is for the sun to oust the rain
But 'im aware deep in my heart of hearts, that the rain will come again
So I must be like the sun, bold unshackled and free
So that when the rain returns I may be unwavering, and burn it away
And maybe ill be free for life eternal, like bold Homer in Dauntes tale of yore
'Tis said that baseball is as American as turkey and punkin pie.
There's nothin' more excitin' than a triple play or a 'homer' on the fly!
Though somewhat distractin' from the game that I am diagnosin',
Are the peculiar mannerisms of the players that I find so engrossin'!
Some hand signals by the manager seem to be downright rude!
When he's nose-to-nose with the ump tryin' to stir up a feud,
He jaws and kicks the turf and dust all about the umpire's shins.
The ump poses with folded arms and just stands there and grins!
A matter that in some quarters is considered a lack of cultivation,
Is the players' chawin' bubble gum creatin' cascades of expectoration!
Spit is liberally used on the players' gloves, bats and hands.
For what purpose I reckon only a seasoned player understands!
The pitcher goes through strange gyrations as he settles on the mound.
He scratches here and there, adjusts his cap and gazes all around,
Then, communicates with the catcher with a subtle nod of his pate,
After they both concur on what tricky ball to deliver o'er the plate!
Before the batter steps up, he adjusts his gloves (into which he spits),
Fiddles with his helmet and bat, all, I suppose to garner better hits.
Maybe bubble gum and spit are necessary for the game - what do I know.
One thing is for sure - those fellers sure do put on a fantastic show!
Remember all those tea ads with the chimps on?
We’ll prostitute the Prague of Gustav Mahler
and desecrate the divas of La Scala.
Would Bart betray begettor Homer Simpson
(he’s not so much a whoreson as a pimp-son)
to get himself a Chevrolet Impala?
You bet he would. This is the Grab-It Gala.
The cripple pawns the plaster that he limps on.
In Pasadena, Pimlico and Perth,
the only thing we´ll go without is girth.
Where JP Morgan’s played by Colin Firth,
we airbrush self-awareness, muffle mirth,
and drown in plenty, blink at moral dearth.
We're always prizing price-tag, never worth.