Long How Poems

Long How Poems. Below are the most popular long How by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long How poems by poem length and keyword.


Laryngeal Spasm

(alternately titled: excuse me while aye...
touch the sky, hen derrick lee 
and pull lightly gag.)

September third tooth house sand
     and eighteen didst find me
to awaken with a start
     during the wee
(Willy Paine Weber) re
duck tee yo absurdum painful hour
     of predawn this morning
     with an experience

     nada so grew vee -
feeling (the unstoppable) tree
men diss urge (lance 
     sing arm) strong
     sensation to regurgitate,
     which tum me,
(and ma tummy) 
     prima facie (pre

mud Donna Brownian 
     bow will Movement)    
     processing) ranks as
     the moost unpleasant – 
basic bodily condition,
(hence disqualifying this former
     anorexic tib bee ya
bulimic), which nauseous repulsion

     to stomach tomb muss elf
     (yea - pertaining to
yours truly: Ma
     Thee You Scott) a tinny
     brass, heartless, and
     dis straw hit cow
     word lee lion
     dew wing ever re:

thing in my "FAKE" NON GMO
     gluten, lactose (i.e.
dairy substitute), and
     monosodiumglutimate free,
wand door full
     wizard ding once fore mid
     able superman, (and now fee
bull powerless reign jars

     ipso fact-so) dee
did immediately whee
kin n ding excess see
ville lee more, dee
pull lore rib hill
     den das bloviation
     spattering, Obi
Wan Kenobi, Casanova,

     (Don Quixote) key
ping figurative lid, prithee
a boot mine gag reflex
     within very limited nee
zero printed edition on reek
     quest not to
     publish very disagree
hubble reader's un
     digest tib bill

     (authored by this atheistic
     secular humanist gib
     brush gabbling, (sans
     reincarnated doubting Thomas pre

lapse Aryan) Unitarian scree
ming cowabunga herbivorous
     droning baby bee
nix nox zippity doo dada
lix lox nicks nox hip pea.


Rumors and Cookie Shakes On a Lazy Sunday

people think i am lost in the essence of time
the machine in which i live makes the world change emotive colors
there are some who think that i left my smile in the bed with my personality
i am lost in a space where i sprayed febreze to aerate my comfort zone
then my left hand is observed by all the judges that study me
my left hand begins to twitch, but i remain calm and medicate myself with daydreams
within said daydreams, the beautification of being lost for the purpose of sanity maintenance awakens me
then here i am in this dumper dust reality again
there are those who believe i am invisible amongst the population of time
two cookie shakes later, i am on droopy mode when i simply reply....YOU KNOW WHAT, I'M HAPPY....
© Marty King  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member Going My Way

GOING MY WAY

                   Going my way now and always
                    To work, to exult or to lose,
                     To solace self when sorrow sways.
                     Only own confidence to choose.

                      Desired partner was not set.
                      Going my way now and always.
                     Built up family pretty- perfect.
                    Yet mostly life on mud and clay.
                 
                    Bound to proceed as my soul says.
                   Lone fighter ready to march brave.
                    Going my way now and always.
                   Destiny refused me to crave.
                       
                    Lone sailor had to sail own boat.
                   Sometimes life brightened by Sun rays.
                    In ebb and tide lone heart to float.
                    Going my way now and always.
Form: Quatern

Premium Member How Can You Live With These Creatures

there were yellow cats in Willow's sinks, gray cats on the stairs
Cats in the kitchen, next to the frig, you were caught unawares
kittens in the pantry, an old gray tom on the stove.
they spilled out of the windows into the large apple grove.

how can you live with all of these creatures? her mother said.
An withered old hair-sparse tabby hissed at the woman’s head.
Her daughter laughed and said “Don’t mind old Red.”
Then she began opening tin cans, for she kept her creatures fed.

They ran in from the stable, they ran in from the barn.
Hearing that tin open, brought them in from balls of yarn.
They fought and spit and snarled as they fought over their cat food.
Putting Willow's outraged mother into a worse more angry mood.
cat
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member refining consciousness-A CHANGE OF HEART MINDSET-

 my thoughts turn around
unique feelings awareness
mind replacing lust
 ~
thoughts sensations crossed
unwanted elements dross
mindset changed deemed such
~
rectify soul new 
birth changed my heart posture soul
from sift to cleanse new
~
rectify soul born 
refining my consciousness
from sift to cleanse new

Refining consciousness 
 Line of inquiry
instrumentalising mind, I rested thought
employing it only when needed
shifting to heart, I became self-taught
gentling touch, voice of conscience heeded

8/13/24
For refining consciousness Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker 


Poem Syllable Counter Results
Syllables Per Line:	5 7 5 0 5 7 5 0 5 7 5 0 5 7 5
Total # Syllables:	68
Total # Lines:	15  (Including empty lines)
Words with (syllables) counted programmatically:	 N/A
Total # Words:	47
Form: Haiku


Premium Member How May We Wake Up

Repeated reincarnations reveal,
that on ensouling a new body-mind,
the truth of agape love, we cease to feel
and as we flounder about on earth blind,
we are caught in ego’s relentless bind.
Recognising this fact, how should we act,
since we are no longer by wisdom backed?
The optimal path is thought cessation,
requiring simply we cease to react,
nonchalant to outcomes and sensation.

All answers are within, so let’s begin
by becoming a witness to ourself,
in the flow of life, choosing to plug-in
but having no agenda in our shelf,
watching how fate pans out all by itself.
We’re not suggesting a phlegmatic stance
nor ceasing striving, leaving all to chance,
yet being still, in timeless time we learn
of how nodes within us joyfully prance,
as in fire of bliss, we willingly burn.
Form: Dizain

Living In The Past, Part II

...Even those who see ‘the future,’
will see it in past terms,
since the past is the reference from
which all mankind must learn.
That grand, utopian future
of which so many dream,
is defined by what it escapes:
a past brutal and mean.
It’s shaped by what it doesn’t have,
compared to ages gone,
a vision based on past eras
stripped of all that went wrong.
And the sad thing of such visions,
I think it must be said,
is how quickly the all look stale,
how soon they look dated.
Look back on all the old scifi
from back in the fifties,
the future they imagined them
now seems quaint history.

It all seems such a waste of time,
trying to think like that,
much better to just see the truth
and lessons from the past.
The endless wisdom that was gleaned,
just waiting to be used,
and half the time we learn from it
we create something new.
Remember that the Renaissance
was folks looking at Greece,
thinking that they could learn from it,
soon after culture peaked.
Remember the Founding Fathers
we’re looking back at Rome,
a republic, no need for king,
from that so much has grown.
The truth is undeniable,
so long as we may last,
every single human alive
is living in the past.
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member The Salvation and Evil Money--

The Salvation And Evil Money--

Whose money is that? I think I know;
Its owner is quite happy though;
Salvation full of joy like a vivid rainbow;
I watch him laugh, I cry hello;
He gives his money a shake;
And laughs until his belly aches;
The only other sound's that breaks;
Is of distant waves and birds wake;
The money is salvation, evil and deep;
But money has promises to keep;
After cake and lots of sleep;
Sweet dreams come to him cheap;
He rises from his gentle bed;
With thoughts of improvishness in his head;
He eats his jam with lots of bread;
Ready for the bankrupt days ahead;


3/29/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.2019©

Dry Valentine

Dry Valentine
Poem
Lionel Derbyshire

I do not wish the repeat of despair
If my expecting heart is again misled
By Cupid’s hollow cleft.
Those heartfelt cracks will duty bruise
The perception of my aching soul 
And it’s zest will be lost again.
For it is my palate’s hope this time
To taste love’s darling precious sauce
On this here coming Valentine’s day.
It is only when Cupid’s arrow misses
Will my luscious thirst be wasted
With unwanted cracks 
Instead of passion stacks.
This qualm is becoming difficult
For how can doubt become doubt
Without doubt , or I am off the view
To suppose that love could really love
Only on this here coming Valentine’s day
And when it does not ..
I will again be Cupid’s captive slave
To wait upon and gain
On another Valentine day.
Until I learn of Cupid's myth
Which be not to wait in vain
To love somebody
In Cupid's hollow cleft.
Form: ABC

No such thing as time

There is no such thing as time

Only stacked moments and bundled thought

I live in a world hung in emptiness

Where sight is few and far between

It’s night, the brook babbles with no audience

The crickets chirp for the moon

I hear the tree frogs song

There is no such thing as time

I would guess it feels like wind

Or the speeding and slowing of heartbeats

Still I see nothing

My woe knows the worst, however

There is no reason to cry when I cannot see my fears

There is no such thing as time

Therefore no such thing as life

So if life does not begin, it never ends
© S. Grace  Create an image from this poem.

Get a Premium Membership
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a Premium Membership.
Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace