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.
GLISTENING GOKARNA
This scenic beauty, a grand temple town
Seated in the Arabian Sea like a golden crown
Bedecked on its bosom the blue beaches festoon
To name a few- Kudle, Paradise,Om and Half moon
Plays host to a galore of global tourists
Adventure enthusiasts and also motorists
Its a Sanskrit hub; has temples ancient opulent
Spirituality, Vedic chants have sprayed its sweet scent
The gracious mountains line the beaches pristine
Verdant vegetation like emerald has draped it green
Coconut fronds along the shores sway in gentle breeze
Colourful narrow streets and shacks to you please with ease
Savoring the magic of Sunrise and Sunset on the yellow sand
Makes you get lost in trance attaining bliss with its magic wand
In the twilight’s crimson red a natural painting of the retreating birds…
And fishing boats dancing with waves cannot be explained with words!
8th November 2016
My Kind of Town - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Janis Thompson
Notes:
Gokarna is a small temple town on the western coast of India in Uttara Kannada district of the state of Karnataka. Gokarna in Kannada language (my mother tongue) means Cow's ear.
Vedic chant-The oral tradition of the Vedas (Srauta) consists of several pathas, "recitations" or ways of chanting the Vedic mantras. Such traditions of Vedic chant are often considered the oldest unbroken oral tradition in existence, the fixation of the Vedic texts (samhitas) as preserved dating to roughly the time of Homer (early Iron Age).UNESCO proclaimed the tradition of Vedic chant a Masterpiece of the Oral and Intangible Heritage of Humanity on November 7, 2003.
'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!
Helen, Troyless
by Michael R. Burch
"The face that launched a thousand ships..."
Helen, bright accompaniment,
accouterment of war as sure as all
the polished swords of princes groomed to lie
in mausoleums all eternity...
The price of love is not so high
as never to have loved once in the dark
beyond foreseeing. Now, as dawn gleams pale
upon small wind-fanned waves, amid white sails, ...
now all that war entails becomes as small,
as though receding. Paris in your arms
was never yours, nor were you his at all.
And should gods call
in numberless strange voices, should you hear,
still what would be the difference? Men must die
to be remembered. Fame, the shrillest cry,
leaves all the world dismembered.
Hold him, lie,
tell many pleasant tales of lips and thighs;
enthrall him with your sweetness, till the pall
and ash lie cold upon him.
Is this all? You saw fear in his eyes, and now they dim
with fear's remembrance. Love, the fiercest cry,
becomes gasped sighs in his once-gallant hymn
of dreamed "salvation." Still, you do not care
because you have this moment, and no man
can touch you as he can... and when he's gone
there will be other men to look upon
your beauty, and have done.
Smile?woebegone, pale, haggard. Will the tales
paint this?your final portrait? Can the stars
find any strange alignments, Zodiacs,
to spell, or unspell, what held beauty lacks?
Published by The Raintown Review, Triplopia, The Electic Muse, The Chained Muse, The Pennsylvania Review, and in a YouTube recital by David B. Gosselin
Keywords/Tags: Helen, Troy, Paris, myth, mythology, beauty, love, war, gods, fate, destiny, portrait, fame, famous, stars, Zodiac, Zodiacs, star-crossed, spell, charm, potion, enchantment, loss, Greece, Greek, mythology, legend, Homer, Odyssey, accompaniment, accouterment, eternal, eternity, immortal, immortality, women, soulmate
as chopsticks for soup
like a monkey eating scotch bonnets
you have to want it
good luck is a myth
thin as a Theban cookie
as your skin if you don't get it
checked-off triggers in academia
fired as a porcelain finger up
kilned in an undertone of glazing
grace is a saying and a Name
tweaked as an ego or a jacket
potato is a hashing at 3 a.m.
iHopper lingering is a tension
getting to the hearth of it
another homer hit past time's fence
foe knocking at your big teeth in front
like a door to your cheeks
puffed with a nut-angle oblique
playing a game of mother elephant
a recess abbreviated by a bad pronunciation
intonation of inspiration at the bell
wrung and swung along a well-tread trail
as dirty as a thurible
I woke up this morning,
Believe me, I was ready to play.
For those of you
Who are unaware
Today's a gargantuan day.
Electrifying excitement
Alive and in the air.
There's nothing else quite like it
For anyone to compare.
Pine tar, rosin fragrance
And that of fresh cut grass.
The end of the baseball season
Has now come to pass.
Magnificent sound when a baseball
Contact’s a baseball bat.
Completing a walk-off homer
With a doffing of the cap.
The AL meets the NL
In world serious matter.
The loser goes home all alone
Disgraced and completely shattered.
Don't think for a moment
It was all fun and games.
It was a tough and very long season.
Even heartbreaking pain.
There was plenty of travel
Cold and heat.
Upset victories and
Humiliating defeat.
Baserunning blunders
Pitches gone wild.
Tears of joy
While others cried like a child.
Playing for a championship
Is tougher than seems.
Now it has come this
Living a baseball dream.
There were 30 teams that started
Now there are only 2 teams left.
Now we're going to crown the one
Who proves to be the best.
God bless America
Home of the brave and free.
Many gave up everything
For this game..you..and me.
Stand up and remember
Those who have departed.
It's the best of seven series
So let's get this party started.
Let's play ball!
Cowards die many times before their deaths…
Julius Caesar, Act II, Scene 2 ~William Shakespeare
spouse
a souse
classic grouse
a big girl's blouse
portent ominous
assertions blasphemous
obscure and anonymous
his skulking is nefarious
utterances acrimonious
and implicature often dubious
uxorious but still pusillanimous
**********************************
An example of a rhopalic verse.
Rhopalism: A rhopalic sentence is one in which each successive word is one letter longer than the previous one. In poetry: where each word is one syllable more, or it might increase each line in a stanza by one syllable (per my example), or a metric foot.
IN THE SAME CATEGORY OF CONSTRAINED WRITING
The Rhopalic Couplet, also called Wedge Verse, was first used by Homer in the Iliad (3.182). It is a poetic unit of 2 rhopalic lines where each word progresses adding one more syllable than the preceding word in the line, for example, 1, 2, 3, 4 … syllables. The sequence of the syllable count can be identical in the second line, or it may be reversed. The couplet does not need not rhyme.
_____________________________________________________________
In The Coward, stanzas are broken up along the syllables of the end rhymes: spouse, souse, grouse, blouse; om-i-nous, blas-phe-mous, a-non-y-mous; ne-far-i-ous, ac-ri-mo-ni-ous, du-bi-ous & pu-sil-lan-i-mous.
LEXICON
acrimonious: (adj) (typically of speech or discussion) angry and bitter.
a big girl’s blouse: British idiom, meaning someone is ineffectual or weak; someone failing to show masculine strength of determination
disposition: (n.) inherent characteristics.
grouse: (n.) one who complains constantly.
implicature: (n.)* the action of implying a meaning beyond the literal sense of what is explicitly stated, for example, saying the picture frame is nice and implying I don’t like the picture.
innate: (n.) inborn, natural
nefarious: (adj) (typically of an action or activity) wicked or criminal.
portent: (n.)
1. a sign or warning that a momentous or calamitous event is likely to happen, an omen.
2. (literary) an exceptional or wonderful person or thing. [‘What portent can be greater than a pious notary.’]
pusillanimous: (adj) showing a lack of courage or determination; timid.
souse: (n.) a drunkard.
Homer Brunett
1879-1912
You didn’t think it would be easy? Did you?
Life squirms incessantly,
As with the molting snake,
Turning and squeezing into mortal convolutions,
With myriad forgotten episodes
Of human triumph and tragedy,
Of endless drama in the slatted houses;
Life is constantly lurching and lunging, ever forward,
Under those silent indifferent clouds, up there!
But time is the ultimate mind master,
He knows where the switches to the stop gates are.
He knows when to open the field sluices awash!
We foolish human beings inevitably
Get taken by the rushing flood waters,
Get completely swept away by the undertow,
Helpless against the madding confluence,
Ending up as tears on the faces of the bereaved.
This is my final testament and statement!
That of an intelligent dead man!
Homer, Aristotle, Hobbes, Locke, Goethe, and Crane;
Chaucer, Shakespeare, Dickens, Tolstoy, Whitman, and Twain;
Whose imagination and toil helped to unfold
Stories, philosophies, and lessons to be told.
The inquisitive student absorbed in his books,
Contemplating and learning while everyone looks
At him with judgmental glances, as if to say,
“Strange seeing him indoors even on this fine day.”
But to him, the weather is of little concern
While he is satisfying his deep thirst to learn.
Taken in by tales of peasants, lovers, and knights,
And those waxing on people’s and government’s rights.
Just then, he feels a chilly draft, but no matter,
As he tugs at his worn jacket collar’s tatter.
Off in the distance, he hears children playing games,
But no match for his fables with fanciful names.
Lost in some fiction, he really can’t help himself,
He thirstily reads his way across his bookshelf.
Hungry – but his knowledge appetite can outlast,
He ignores stomach growls as the lunch hour has passed.
The reader pores on in utter fascination,
As if in a trance, but not caused by libation.
Searching, grasping, he is mentally enraptured,
With meanings bold to subtle all being captured.
In deep translation of the scenes, plots, and faces
Scribed in earlier times and in other places.
He can wait for frolic, frills and things of that kind.
For now, the scholar will sit and enrich his mind.
2/26/17
Would that this poet were in Greece!
Her heart enchanted on its sunlit sands.
Her lover, kissing her porcelain hands.
His eyes, deep, dark as Kalmata olives.
The homes, white, with bright, blue tops.
Her heart beating so loudly, fearing it may stop!
But as the sun sets, she is far calmer.
Her head on his chest, she hears its Greek beat.
Then in Hellenic peace ,falls asleep to it’s melodic treat.
Sappho and Homer, she felt reincarnated.
To pen of love was always her deepest desire!
Deceased ages ago, but love brought back
her pen’s desire!
Dedicated to James
Thank you, dear friend!
8/31/2022
Walking in curiosity's footprints,
I wander through life like a beachcomber.
Placing wit above life's trinkets and chintz,
I seek thinkers and poets like Homer.
Many peg me as a shiftless roamer,
but I am anything but commonplace.
The cosmos gave me a glimpse of God's face,
and my soul knew that there was so much more.
Humanity defines the human race:
godlike, with a predilection for war.
I value my memories more than gold,
flashes of how it felt to be alive.
For recollections can't be bought or sold;
they're private places where emotions thrive;
shifting conscious thoughts into overdrive.
I don't follow fools who would burn witches;
I've more respect for those who dig ditches.
Diogenes searched for an honest man
amongst the schemers, hoarding their riches:
and though he couldn't find one, I'm still a fan.