Long Ideal Poems
Long Ideal Poems. Below are the most popular long Ideal by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ideal poems by poem length and keyword.
Women in my family-
mom, sisters-in-law and me
Standing tall as robust trees
Shading comforts for everybody.
They heartily leant at men’s wall
Making sure nobody will fall
Support kids morally and spiritually
Alongside with men, financially.
They’re strong to do what most men do
Carpentry for mother dear, go…go…go!
Sisters-in-law are very supportive
Brothers’ ideal wives, best moms to their kids.
Women in my family are all evergreen leaves
Unfading love from home to relatives- they give.
July 11,2022 8.27pm
Form: Rhyme in Long Skirt Shape
Women in my family
Contest Judged: 7/12/2022 4:44:00 PM
Sponsored by: Sotto Poet
Place 1 ( out of 4 multi-w & 1hm)
Running with Rex
I rowed a boat into a lake, to clear my head from feelling addled.
I forgot my big brown dog Rex, but after me he paddled.
A loyal shadow in the water, but my eyes just looked ahead
Rex's breath was giving out, but his spirit had not fled.
Luckily, father launched a boat from the beach.
Like a hero in a story, his strong arms did reach.
Rex scrambled into his boat, a dripping mess.
Dad gave Rex a hug, I gave Rex a caress.
Later years Rex would run with me
I thought he was lucky, I thought he was free.
Better off than being inside a house all day
like many sad pets across the USA.
We ran with the track team of Jackson High
As he ran, he wheezed, I never asked why.
We ran all alone, up the mountain of Bear.
We ran like a two-man pack, in the clear dry air.
One hot summer day, he collapsed in the sun.
Looked so bad, fear gripped me, I felt my heart run.
I doused him with water, inside and out.
Like a desperate rain, trying to end a drought.
They tell me now that this was my final blow.
The wrong thing to do, but of course I didn't know.
I drove to the vet too fast, a risk to drivers on the way.
The sky seemed black, though it was a bright summer day.
The vet took one look and told me Rex was dead.
No more memories of me, eternal nothingness instead.
I had run Rex to death for a misguided ideal.
The rest of my life, this wound will not heal.
I had to tell my dad, and my brothers too.
Dad was bitter, but there was nothing left to do.
Wasn't that I was cruel, or that I'm not nice
Life's lessons hurt the most when others pay the price.
I tried to learn life's rules, to ask what can go wrong.
To pour cold water on manic ideals, to be wise and strong.
But many times, in later years, a victim took the fall.
If you can't think ahead, you become a human wrecking ball.
Join our community of “believers”
And be shocked by our beliefs
You might think we’re moved by love
But it isn’t quite what it seems
We “believe” in social cannibalism
We tear each other down
And when we’ve had our fill
We go for another round
We “believe” in church politics
We vote for the lovely and fair
We push for those whom we love
Not for those with savoir faire.
We smile and sing and pray a prayer
And give a nice warm embrace
But if we see you outside church
We won’t remember your face
We strongly “believe” in equality
In empowering the weak
But then we forget that ideal
When we don’t let people speak
We “believe” that we are called
To save dying humankind
But to the needs of those around
We tend to be most blind
Come join our community of “believers”
We "believe” in “the Holy ME”
Yea, you thought it was all about
The holy Trinity
Well, that’s ok, just join the club
We’ll be a jolly band
A band of true “believers”
Who won’t lend a helping hand!
A Flock of Startled Birds
He had sat for an hour on a long, low, flat rock,
He had checked himself over from bald patch to sock.
His leather shoes burnished to a mirror-like shine,
Tie ironed flat – a perfect straight line.
Trouser legs spotless, each one like a razor
Creases removed from a freshly-pressed blazer.
Beside him his beret, shaped, shaven and fitted.
Medals on chest at the spacing permitted.
A lifetime of honour, in metal and ribbon,
Scant recompense for the services given.
On the rock, gleaming black in the late evening sun
A Webley revolver – his Grandfather’s gun.
Then drawing himself up and heaving a sigh
He stood and was conscious of time slipping by
The sun was still shining but the far hills were dim
He knew that there wasn’t much time left to him.
No friends, no family, no future but pain
Nothing but memories of comrades, all slain.
The only survivor, he felt like a thief,
His mind filled with torment, dishonour and grief.
A lifetime of desperately trying to mourn
Till the shame and remorse were too much to be borne.
He put on his beret, threw up a salute.
A pang of fear stabbed, but he stood resolute.
With one hand in pocket he searched till he found;
Then picked up the revolver and chambered a round.
Near the rock, at his feet, lay a bottomless cave
Unmarked, uncorrupted, an ideal grave.
He stepped to the edge, raised the gun to his brow
“We all have our time,” he thought, “my time is now.”
As he tightened his finger, a calmness descended
In a moment the anguish and pain would be ended.
It was all he could do to defeat the despair.
Then a small flock of startled birds took to the air.
Peter Pan Syndrome the most
accurate way to summarize
psychological mindset of yours truly,
particularly as a boy with brown eyes,
who did NOT holistically acclimatize
himself with peers, which insecurity
latched deadbolt draw
bridge guaranteeing Harris
parasite to cannibalize
(figuratively), sans rip
pull sieve flesh eating das guise
nanobot, while clinging with dear life
to mother's apron strings, no surprize
unavoidably, predictably, inevitably,
trauma did successfully burglarize
(more serious than Watergate)
rendering this withdrawn, small size
passive, and docile pipsqueak
human punching bag to other guys,
one puny slip shape lad's bodily statecraft
always ready to capsize
silently suffering lifetime, threatening
afflictions, harming easy target
inculcating aghast fear to socialize
compounded by stature quite undersize
additionally afflicted with minor defect
submucous cleft palate did compromise
vocalization with severe nasality
(iterated previously other poems), where
bullies did zero Kamikaze like to criticize
relentlessly, an ideal
defenceless, friendless,
and helpless "scapegoat" booby prize
scared kid, who stood
stock still cowering in an agonize
zing posture, while my whole felt as if tied
into gordian knot as
"hoodlums" did gleefully antagonize,
yet never confided hostile treatment
to either parent, I wanted to disappear
and DIE, hence escapist wishes aye did fantasize!
Unearthly beauties, one and all
Angelic faces, each a doll
Physique amazing, walking straight
In runway's perfect balanced gait
They smile, in answer to your smile
Dressed sharp and simple, modern style
Somehow they know what is in fashion
Those shapely legs inflame passion
No girl be equal to compete
With wonder bodies, eyes and feet
The arching brows, ideal skin
Earth doesn't hold your next of kin
We'd love to meet them, hold their hands
And speak, about to be fans
To run our fingers through the manes
Except a dream it all remains
They are not real, don't live here
These beauties not what they appear
At least not yet, not on my watch
All I can do is wish and watch
As catwalk model or a singer
A dancer with the moves that linger
Recite the story, silky voice
Leave us astounded, to rejoice
Be you not fake, I'd be on fire
Ones' manly brain, it goes haywire
Oh, why, but why create temptations
When none of you are God's creations?
Illusions perfect, by A.I.
Hello, my beauties, and goodbye
One day you'll join humans' world
I wouldn't live that long, I'm told
December 28, 2025
Those city's snowfalls in January
come down to earth surprisingly...
to induce an ideal stillness,and make
with an impressive effect,
lovely sceneries to be instilled
inside the inquisitive and perceptive mind!
Fluffy and swirling snowflakes
give glitter and beauty
to lifeless and drooping trees
sheltering the holly's shrubs,
which are fearful of showing entirely
their frozen berries;
and who isn't happier than
a fumbling mockingbird...
vanquishing danger
and not being heard?
Hill tops are swarmed by teens
so confident and daring...
while sliding downhill
on snowboards delirously
and whenever they come to a stop:
they are shouts and cheers
so encouragingly;
imagine life without them:
neither joy or event
will be rembered by us,
who cherished the thrill
of those days when we laughed a lot!
The tallest pine trees,ever to grow,
attract birds needing shelter and more...
and to hear and see swift blue-jays humming
their harmonious and cheerful notes,
while fleeing brench to brench,
is so inspiring and heart-warming...
not ever lamenting winter's pinch,
rather celebrating life with gladness!
Those city's snowfalls in January
are unique,pretty and breatless
as we draw ourselves closer to Nature...
when tranquillity is there to conquer us;
and we lose ourselves into it with ardor...
to amend our neligence and feel serenity!
Aged wisdom
A timeless beauty
Hidden from
Advertised minds.
Nobody is,
Not what we are.
Perfection is
Truly possible.
If only we
Allow it how.
What am I
Willing to do
In order to
Achieve Ambivaliss?
Nothing
As
0f
Late
What is Ambivaliss?
It is an ideal society.
The very best of all.
A word I created that
is a combination of
ambivalent and bliss.
And no matter how hard
they try, and
break me down,
I will cling on to whatever hope
left remains;
until my heart stops
beating.
For I possess an ability to see
through the ugly outside.
Holding onto the belief of a
clever beauty in disguise...
January 7, 2017
For contest Beauty in Disguise by Julia Ward.
A nation dies
when its ideas become slogans
nothing is deeply planted
or cultivated
just notions to be scattered around
as exposed hayseeds
that fly directionless.
When a state is oppressed
the collective impulse
is to oppress another country.
Wars are never fought
over an ideal.
In the staggered march of time
dead men become
the enemy.
Minds die
they become buried in the deaf flesh,
become as thin as the bones
of extinct songbirds.
The dead consider themselves
the finest examples of a new reality,
an existence that is the loudest shout
in the widest open mouth.
Dead letters, dead opinions,
dead ends
travel in circles together
until the land forgets its roots
becomes a basement for the sky
a place that is ingrown
like a toenail
pushed into the white tissue
of all such unkept deathbeds.
Perfeito
AH – Perfeito
AH! Perfeição
que belo presente seria,
Ver tudo perfeito
Na vida
e
Nos negócios.
AH – Perfeito
AH! Perfeição
não te alcanço,
mas eu te vejo.
Vejo a perfeição
em sonhos ardentes,
Cantando ao ouvido
em voz baixa
que ainda assim irrompe do peito!
AH, Perfeição –
Que não posso prender!
Nos fios da perfeição
o ideal e o real são tecidos
E vejo a perfeição
em algo de alegre que ao céu fica bem.
AH – Perfeição, não te alcanço,
Não paro de buscar!
Ergo a cabeça e estremeço ao ouvir
O rumor da subida
Do sonho ardente
Irrompendo do peito
Cantando alto ao mundo.
AH, Perfeição
Que não vejo e não posso prender!