Long Images Poems
Long Images Poems. Below are the most popular long Images by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Images poems by poem length and keyword.
60's Child
I found myself at the tail end of childhood then,
Coming out of its long sunny sleep;
The days and nights of pleasures, terrors, wonders
Strung together to make up the pitted landscape
Of being small
Still filled my world and made it whole.
Mostly i remember things like:
Summer crab feasts, "I Love Lucy" reruns
"Laugh-In" bits, the drone of ball games on t.v.,
Trips into town to my Grandfather's old store
For candy and comics
Back before my town became Yuppie Central.
Another child raised beneath the cathode rays' glow,
My mind absorbed images, words with only hinted meanings
- Like the smiling faces in the cigarette ads
The offhand reports of body counts
From a faraway, makebelive war,
i heard and felt the many signs of strain
Between the longhaired Bigger Kids and their parents;
But not for me their world of confused revolt.
That would come later, milder in my case
When I became one of their second, weaker, wave.
No, I stepped out of the close land of childhood
Just after it was all over;
Wondering ever since,
Just what it was I'd missed, or hadn't
By dint of being a kid of the fabled 60's.
The wild clouds
Are traveling
In the firmament.
The missiles and projectiles
Are bursting the profile
Of many innocent people.
The children
Are crying on the benches,
And their moms
Are suffering miserably.
Big and expensive guns
Are devouring mountains,
Valleys and cities.
Where is the love,
Amidst all these killings,
In full fury,
Where day
Becomes night?
In the whirlwind of miseries,
Absent are the roses,
Where nature is gloomy.
Man kills himself, why?
For nothing; for cow dung.
Humanity is wearing a cross
Which is very heavy. No more bread,
They shot the workers and the bakers.
We are all in the face of danger.
The wise clouds
Have seen the gruesome images;
Both countries are demolished
By ignorance and demagoguery.
Give a chance to diplomacy;
Give a blob of common sense to peace,
In order to nourish the giant tree of respect.
War will always be a senseless folly.
Copyright © November 2012, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry collections.
The artwork shows a
female gymnast balancing on a pile of rubble
on the side of a building damaged by Russian strikes
The graffiti artist posted three images
the piece Friday on social media,
with a simple caption reading "Borodyanka, Ukraine,"
using an alternative spelling for the town's name
Speculation had been mounting that
Banksy was in the war-torn country after a series of murals
appeared in Borodianka, located about 35 miles northwest of the capital, Kyiv
The town came back into Ukrainian control on April 1
returning residents found their houses ransacked and shops pillaged with windows broken and contents stolen
The letter "V" a symbol used by Russia's Eastern Military district in concert with the letter "Z" an emblem for Moscow's so-called "special military operation" was found painted on buildings, vehicles and checkpoints
Who's Banksy? Clues about the mysterious artist!
Slippery, provocative, mysterious Banksy, the British artist
whose identity is still unknown,
is considered one of the main contemporary street art icons
His art, many times satirical,
address universal issues such as politics,
culture or ethics
In the center of Los Angeles, an "unauthorized" Banksy’s exhibition,
dedicated to the enigmatic artist,
lets visitors dive into the controversial artistic universe
of the most influential creator of present time
Rays from the sun shined on our first kiss
warm and bright
and colored our days with garden filled waterfalls
that splayed dewdrops
on the same winds which carried our dreams
from the tender tips of our fingers
to the images imagined on passing clouds
where we found music drifting through our souls
rich and vibrant
the wine of our love was sweet and full
we left no footprints
as our feet were always floating above the ground
our shadows beneath us were of lover's embraced
until the sun's rays set
and the moon rose on parting silhouettes
with tear-stained faces
and pockets filled with unknown reasons
could that we find the sun and turn around
and allows its shine to heal our wounds
plucking the pain from our sorrow
could that we know serenity
by casting aside our pride
throwing it on the burning nakedness of our hearts
to reach beyond our own needs
to give again...without expectations
to find a single candle melting in our hearts
we both can hold when romance turns into living
and we allow one another to shine
in this dim-lit realm of life
as it passes quickly between the sun and moon
will we forgive each other and kiss again
4/9/21
contest Writing Prompt...Shine
sponsor Constance La France
Coming into My Own As a Poet
It hit me today, with a poem of great
beauty I wrote.
Assiduously avoided, naturally.
(As I had expected.)
And that's as fine, as fine can be!
It literally hit me over my head!
My plans are to not sell myself out
to two devils:
A Crown and the Cape of Popularity!
I don't want the rank and file following
me like lemmings!
Why? Go exploring and find the pearls
of non-bests here!
I dare you! I entreat you to read them.
I have no idea what happened to me
in writing that poem.
I just knew that a door opened and it
screamed at me..
"Panagiota,you made your own home"
The flooring is not made of comments!
But of the sturdy, unbreakable soul of
Panagiota, me!
I gave up theater of the absurd of
Being the Best of anything here.
I choose not to be best in anything
anymore...
Except in crafting my verse.
To be honest, too. I cannot compete
in any contests ,unless they are only
the written word.
Images and sound do not a great
poem make.
I do appreciate them greatly, be clear.
Thanks to the group who got me going
on this road....and all the new ones to
discover as I grow, so they find the
gleaming golden candle in their soul.
Thank you all and with love~
Panagiota, a new born poet
5/17/2019
111pm PST
*Image of Jesus Pictures and Images by Pixabay.
Jesus In My Life
Jesus, you're my life
my one true shining light
you wash away my sin and strife
all day and night --
filled me with your love
so peaceful with delight
as angels shared their wings with doves
are signs of hope --
promise from above
beholden me to cope
my joy tried by test and trials
just smile not mope --
evil stretch for miles
temptations I will face
his holy name I shout with smiles
and warm embrace --
Lord, each passing day
just guide me in your grace
my faith is strong and I obey
Jesus, I pray.
*The song is in a succession of 5-6-8-4 syllables, symbolized (--) in breaks.
2021 July 03
*7th Place*
Jesus
~~Regina McIntosh: Judged 2021 July 11
I.
Among twenty different brightly colored toys,
The only moving thing
Was the beak of a noisy parrot.
II.
I was of three family members,
Like a family tree
In which there is a noisy parrot.
III.
The noisy parrot screeched relentlessly piercing the silent black night.
Smothering all sounds with her beaky plight.
IV.
Three shrill family members together
Are one.
Three shrill family members and a noisy parrot
Are one.
V.
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of ear - splitting noise
Or the beauty of deafening silence,
The noisy parrot shrieks
Or just after.
VI.
Lime greenish and red orange feathers fall to the bottom of the cage
With sway and rhythm.
The color of the noisy parrot
Shines bright with eminence.
The halo forms an aura
With images of great splendor.
VII.
O thin men of beauty
Why do you dream of hooting owls?
Do you not see how the noisy parrot
Makes his presence known
Amongst the women around you?
IX.
When the noisy parrot began playing with her toys,
It rang a bell
Of one of many chimes.
X.
At the sight of the noisy parrot
Screaming at the moon high above
Even the bands of crickets
Had their own orchestra.
XI.
She opened the cage
With a thick black glove
Once, she felt pain, when her beak sank in,
From that she now understood
The radiant power with within her
Of all noisy parrots.
XII.
The sound of nuts cracking.
The noisy parrot must be munching.
XIII.
It was still and quiet throughout the blackness of the night.
It was raining
And it was going to rain.
The noisy parrot sat
On the chipped wooden perch.
The world speaks of tragedy and questions
was it hate, terrorism or less tempered aggressions,
those are the words news makers use so competitively
but history is sadly, inconsolably repetitive.
there it is again, another bomber exploding
to entice the world into imploding.
Deep in the quiet tears of our revealed hearts
weeps silently the saddened fears of how or why it starts.
Because you look a little different,
because your faith makes you more belligerent;
because your country is not like mine
and immigrants flock to leave their lives behind.
A country and its philosophies grew far too liberal
much the same as these not quite so new but visceral.
Peace is too somber, to boring to live forever
war, hate and death satisfy a more greedy pleasure.
Land and hubbles torn apart and laws put asunder
so that masked warriors can more easily kill and plunder.
Building stones and beams, blood and bodies lie in rubble
guilt and innocents, the count increased and then redoubled.
Police, firefighters, mayors, senators, premiers and presidents
conversate, condemn and censure with grandiose dissent.
and
Still the evil lives burning forever images into our eyes,
two towers falling from the sky.
The Submission Page does not upload Arabic alphabet symbols, so
I posted my poem in Arabic on the Notes/Photo page above my poem.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
I gather images of Easter's sign,
bouquets of varied thoughts and memories:
emerging crocus, budding branch, and vine,
the flutter of the robin in the breeze.
Symbolic, too, the lily, pure and white,
new chicks and bunnies, butterflies galore.
The fading, icy sting of winter's night
replaced by spring's warm day, long waited for.
I contemplate each image and I know
the thrill of surging hope that swells my soul.
New life, from dormant seed, will rise and show
how spring joy resurrects from winter's dole.
A new beginning blooms for us and earth-
for, Easter promises her gift- rebirth.
Written- March 15, 2016
===================================
The translation site from English to Arabic offered this too.
waead eyd alfash
'ajmae sur ealamat eyd alfash ,
baqat min al'afkar waldhikriat almtnwet:
zaeafran nashi , farae nashi , wakarimat ,
rafrfat rubin fi alnasim.
yarmiz aydana 'iilaa alzanbiq alnaqii wal'abyad ,
farakh wa'aranb jadidat , wafarashat wafarashatun.
alludughat aljalidiat almutalashiat fi laylat ala'
hal mahalah yawm alrbye aldaafi aldhy tal antizarah.
'ana 'ufkir fi kl surat wa'ana 'aelam
ladhat andifae al'amal alty tadakhum ruhi.
alhayat aljadidat , min budhur kaminat , satartafie watuzhir
kayf tabeath farhat alrbye min 'iieanat alshata'.
bidayat jadidat tazahar lana walila'ard-
li'ana eyd alfash yueiduha bihadiatiha - wiladat jadidatun.
February 5, 2021
Contest: Easter- English and Arabic Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Regardless of the ever slow and piercing passage of more than two centuries, her sapphire eyes still remain encrusted in my memory, like precious gems on an ancient fallen crown.
Only fractures and scars remain of the come-and-go parades of fabricated love, which served only as the ground to sow the seeds of my own desolation.
Like a hand grasping thorns, is the stigma of knowing the punishment of her absence has not yet ended, and that I again, will not have in this life her guidance, her light and presence.
Images flecked with dust twirl in my mind, to the rhythm of the arrhythmia of my eternally consternated heart.
As if conspiring, time managed to abrogate all its forgiving powers and magical healing, although I admit that the constant remembering of her love, like a refreshing ever flowing brook, has always been the very best of every day in each life, briefly relieving my withered and shattered spirit.
Losing myself in the memory of the thousand details of her Venus like beauty, gives me life, flares up my senses and wafts me through the swirling smoke of hours burnt.
Clinging on passionately and frantically to the memory of the essence of her loving way, I am momentarily able to perceive this empty world, as paradise.
I miss the way her soul breathed, and how every time it gently approached mine, I´d be engulfed by the violet halo of her auric light, taking me to heaven here on earth.
I remember the glory embodied in her poised grin, as she realized how I became bewitched when she described with her mellifluous voice, details of the impossible love she felt for me.
I miss her intriguing yearning for the science of the pneuma, and the amazing knowledge she possessed about the laws that rule the merging of souls. She taught me that love conceived thus, is the only force that governs and transcends the infinite, inheriting the power to enrich life wherever it may be.
I miss her intense urge to make me a better person, despite knowing just how difficult it would be.
An unforgivable mistake from my part, left her without option, forcing her to remove me from the magnificence of her life, leaving me adrift between the jaws of the three mysteries of time, and into the hands of living death.