Long Ideas Poems
Long Ideas Poems. Below are the most popular long Ideas by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ideas poems by poem length and keyword.
What name can I give
To a dream that is uncertain
To people who are unclear
To a feeling I am unsure of
To a message that is obscure?
What name can I give
To voices no longer heard
Advice no longer given
Words no longer spoken
Questions no longer asked?
What name can I give
To an envelope without a letter
To a crossword without clues
To a jigsaw without pieces
To death without life?
It is death
It is their death
It is Mammy and Daddy’s death
Dead
Yes dead
They are dead
What name can I give them
Now they are dead?
If only they would say
“Happy Easter” at the end of the line
If only they could share
In the memories and plans of mine
If only they could cough or laugh
Or snort
As a sign of life
Death is the knife
That cuts the cake through
And me too
It is the sponge
That soaks up all the blood
And leaves the inside dry
And on the crust am I
Not cut through
But still in pieces
What name can I give
To the sorrow that comes when –
“I must tell them that. But of course –“
“I’m so happy now. But I can’t – “
I don’t have any name
I waited but nothing came
What name can I give
To the water that flows through my hand
Making their memory murky
Painting their clothes a wrong colour
Giving their tones a different sound
Saying it’s square when it’s really round?
????
Two years ago
Could I have believed
In this dedication?
My parents
A subject of cold meditation
Life moves on to a new generation
Leaving them both behind
At Death Station
Do they know as little of me
As I know of them?
Can they switch on and see-
Is there a News at ten?
What name can I give this distance?
What name can I give this mystery?
They have passed without my resistance
Into the huts of history
I didn’t resist as I didn’t know
How incredibly quickly they could go
But I couldn’t have stopped them
Even if I’d tried
Spirits won’t be by bodies defied
Spirits!
Yes they are spirits now
They live only in my mind
And there, ideas grow
Their lives I’m going to show
Before it is too late
While I’m still in this state
While they’re here at my gate
Zinnia Grandiflora a golden beauty
Yellow Prairie Coneflower conical cutie
Xerophilous plants designed to survive
Waterlily attached to bottom soil to stay alive
Venus Fly Trap grows wild in marshes
Ulmus grows wild along with birches
Texas Bluebonnet cover fields with hyacinth like joy
Shasta Daisy white and yellow who could ask for more
Rocket Larkspur projecting a backwards spur
Queen Anne's Lace root add to pot and stir
Purple Coneflower helps strengthen the immune system
Oriental Poppies held captive by morn's dew glisten
Nasturtium are symbols of conquest or of charity
Maximilian"s Sunflower withstands weather's serverity
Lemon Balm Mint lovely the citrus scent
Kalmia Carolina reaches to mountain ascent
Johnny Jump-Up a delightful surprise
Indian Blanket Flower a short lived prize
Hollyhock short-lived six to eight foot beauties
Globe Gilia blue clover-like cuties
Foxglove's foxy tubular but poisonous flowers
Evening Primrose has been used for food and medicinal powers
Desert-Marigold a blessing and curse
Chocolate Cosmos fills the air wth scents to nurse
Black-Eyed Susan Rudbeckia a delightful fall addition
Annual Baby's Breath to end a southern garden tradition
Inspired by John Lawless' contest First Ever ZYX Contest
Written: October 10, 2015
A mixture of wildflowers and other flowers and ideas..
You prance about when on display,
as you strut your mane flows each way.
You flash so proudly to show you're pretty,
but will your plan save our city?
You talk of others who are to blame,
to you it seems just a game.
Your raucous edicts send us reeling,
then we find you're double dealing.
Our people need ideas not flare.
Can you look where we not dare?
Substance wins out in the long contest,
those with heart lead all the rest.
For the good of all should be your claim,
best for one is a weak refrain.
In the parade of life you're the pony,
history will show you're just a phony.
Destroyed lives
By Michelle Morris
25/11/2022
Broken promises
Broken dreams
Destroyed lives
In the in between
The in between
Of me and you
The ideas in my head
Of what was true
You lead me on
Betrayed my trust
Took advantage of
My need for love
Meeting you
Changed my life
But not in the way
I ever imagined
Here I am
Buried in a shallow grave
Close to nature
In the least good way
You took my organs
You took my life
But most of all
You took my future self
Halted in its tracks
My special path
Now in Heaven
We discuss my faults
You might get rich
By deception and evil
But you'll pay the price
Of all your misdeeds
Whether pimping girls
Or selling flesh
You'll soon feel
The deepest regrets
For there is no loyalty
Among such bitter souls
Your brazen acts
Will always implode
A bigger monster
Is always there
To feed off you
Your certain death
It won't be pretty
And it won't be painless
But what can you expect
From a life so shameless
And when you stare
Into Satan's eyes
Remember He
Knows all your lies
Enjoy your pain
Your hellfire torture
You'll suffer eternally
As you ought to
© Michelle Morris, 2022
A restricted freedom is not
a true freedom at all...
to allow the mind to think less;
keeping with wishes will not
endow you with the power
you pursue and without a good cheer
and a bit of fortune you seem powerless
in the meteoric hemisphere
as the mistress jumbles...
in her untidy emotions:
submitting your confusion in the meshes
of disorder without merit or deserving praise!
A free nation shares her enormous harvest
without distinction or meticulous handout,
or mending its ways with a meretricious disposition:
to give an illusive luster to its adversity; and menace
truly lies in those untruthful promises
that are quickly changeable when authority is grasped...
to allow the mind to think less, not to carry on its quest,
and before a reprimand, it imposes punishment!
A fair nation is not that tyrant rending peace and trust;
repulsing the merciful demands without consideration!
Allow the mind not to think less,
but let the impulse be stronger and insuppressible,
and if the mighty hand imputes, be ready for the improbable:
the incumbent Caesar gathers his troops to smash
the ideas that snarled his anger towards renaissance,
and driving them off he repels a greatness
that could replete his dark palace with sun-light!
And you the repressed ones, don't repose in silence,
or rescind what was denied, but oppose and fight...
with a courage and a dignity so admirable!
Copyright 2008 by Andrew Crisci
Morning buzz
Grandeur and grace;
Pleasant surprise
~~~~~~~~~
Floral bouquet
Scented extravagance;
Rose garden escapade
~~~~~~~~~
City lights twinkle
Evening charades;
Dinner for two
~~~~~~~~~
Father's Day comes
Commercial success;
Family reunion
~~~~~~~~~
Ink stains
Words on paper;
Cursive metaphors
~~~~~~~~~
Kitchen chit-chat
Witty small talk;
Espresso ideas
~~~~~~~~~
Sleepy somnolence
Eyelids heavy;
Dreamy pursuits
~~~~~~~~~
Birdsong duet
Dawn serenade;
Hopes and dreams
~~~~~~~~~
Late night escapade
Tryst downtown;
Posh after hours
~~~~~~~~~
Lovely visit
Hearts fluttering;
Retirement home
~~~~~~~~~
Doctors hover
Cryptic diagnosis;
Standing on needles
~~~~~~~~~
Home-cooked meal
Gourmet delights;
Three Michelin stars
~~~~~~~~~
Work words well
Time to tell;
Dazzle dwells
~~~~~~~~~
Wet market stalls
Smiling vendors tout;
Welcome offerings
~~~~~~~~~
By these shores
Distant ships buoy;
Brief stopover
~~~~~~~~~
By and by
Distant dreams;
Across the horizon
~~~~~~~~~
Bamboo chopsticks
Teriyaki salmon rice;
Comfort food
~~~~~~~~~
Morning cuppa
Awakening senses;
Sleepy daze
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
19 June 2016
Singapore
My messed-up mind has always been messy,
A hundred voices talking at once about anything and everything:
The Parsi, the Persian, perhaps the weather,
Or evergreen jakkalsbessies.
Clarity and clear thinking weren't happening;
Chaos and confusion were rife
In a mind so messy.
A hurricane of ideas, but no focus to execute them,
A whirlwind of thoughts, but unable to prioritise them,
Reams and reams of paper filled with to-do lists,
Yet no executive function to begin them.
Trying to navigate life this way was exhausting.
It affected everyone and everything around me;
Doing anything became daunting,
And all I could do was keep apologising
As I tried to navigate this labyrinth called life.
Without the necessary tools for the journey—
No map, no compass, no GPS to guide me.
This was my mind, my life, until I turned thirty-three.
Then a miracle was sent to me:
A doctor, and a diagnosis of ADHD.
In finding and understanding the truth,
I gained clarity through the static.
It was like finding a lighthouse in the fog,
A safe haven, symbolic of everything I had been seeking.
Things soon changed.
From that moment on, I became pragmatic.
I could see the path through the thicket.
With the right help, I started seeing clearly;
I started excelling,
Even when everything around me felt noisy,
Chaotic, and overwhelming.
And although my thoughts still sometimes feel scattered,
Or full of static,
Moments of exceptional focus,
Creativity, and insight still emerge,
Though often sporadic.
So although my mind is often full of static,
I can find clarity through it.
It feels like magic.
I've found a way to seek clarity
Without removing the static;
It emerges through it,
Like a signal through the noise,
Though occasionally there's still interference.
But a messy mind will never be completely mess-free.
There will always be some clutter to tidy up.
Yet I've learned to live with it,
And no longer mistake my differences
For something that needs fixing.
Im still yet to hyper focused on OCD. Where cleanliness is a main priority.
Millions of decades ago,
ancient humankind had one purpose in life:
to find prey
every day,
a stomach that stayed full
until the next breath,
until the last breath.
Ideas stormed,
things evolved,
brains grew creative,
and eventually, we were called the smartest species on Earth.
Here we are, humans of today’s bin,
seeing the air around us
and wondering:
is this how it has always been?
This very planet once had souls whose purpose was big, yet small.
"Laughter, smiles — that's all we want."
However, today's baby is born with a paper and pen.
They start writing down desires, one after another, until the last day.
And boom — the list has already crossed a thousand before the age of ten.
From one corner of the world come screams for money and hymns,
while from another come cries for love.
This world is now full of deafening screams.
People are becoming breathless, chasing empty dreams.
A smile, evoked by ninety-nine reasons,
vanishes because of one statement.
The heart is weak,
the brain dominates.
It's the new normal.
The 8 billion pockets are getting heavy,
but are we ready?
I shall paint the fence, my neighbor said.
I need purple, yellow, orange, blue, silver and red.
The next thing I knew, she was heading to the store.
I have to get turquoise and pink, and maybe some more.
This is what it is like living next to an artistic friend.
Her ideas keep her up at night and they never end.
She added five cats, a dog, an owl and flowers too.
I can come over and do your side, she said. I will be there at two.
Not her again! My husband said. You know she is crazy.
She is artistic, I told him, energetic, and never ever lazy.
She’s not doing our side of the fence he said, and that is that.
Until she presented him with a sample of his favorite alley cat.
Written: February 1st, 2025 For contest by Sponsored by: Brian Strand
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tethered to a wick, flickering in orbit,
carnelian and velvet flute notes swirl.
Amber sparks rise and swarm.
Gold and glories cavort,
while a sable-zaffre shroud is weaving graffiti,
The candle's lambent light casts the shadows.
Opals float akin to petals in a cesspool,
triggering thoughts of scarlet shift,
as coppery sensations escape their chains.
Shelves push against a bound bosom.
Creativity exhales smoke and throws.
while maples' sway ruins bibliophilic dreams.
Rhapsody strikes with a sigh of melodic delight.
shining coldly, like winter's moonlight.
whirling shadows and crimson angels,
as eventide-colored darts whistle on ledges.
Candelabras wear cardigans as gaunt sailors.
And garrulous flames tell tales of gossamer nights.
Vivid, sprawling thoughts and tangled ideas emerge,
from a nexus of opia and kuebiko's kenopsia; exulansis,
This blazing pyre is shadowed by slipshod stupidity.
Seraphic moments—a sylph-like eudaemonia whisper of
Virtuous knowledge whispers umpteen realities.
Onism turns a mere blip in liberosis dreams,
Blazing a trail of endless adventures!
Altschmerz soothes sonder in occhiolism reveries.
Epiphany shines pure, like the aurora elixir.
Monachopsis leaves views, and kenopsia fades—a balm,
Ethereal panacea from unseen yet deeply felt nodes.
Vivid yet deep colors echo the pain of the moment.
It enables us to view life through a cosmic lens.
Maples sway melodically under the moon’s glow,—
their frosty sheen bestows grace
light plays across the frozen ground,
creating fleeting beauty.