Long Immense Poems
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Bring on the rejection slips and/or lost wager
Though flush with good humor
pun one mock two yields negligible
true cash equivalent value won
dirt poor offspring privileged as prodigal son
pockets bursting with legal tender,
where just yesterday I had none.
All polite declinations
strung together would circle...
(fill in the blank)
matter of fact, I just got a slew of them
today June 9th, 2020, what a lucky man
me haint an idealist...,
but winning poetry (writing) contest
or purchasing lottery tickets...
yeah, nothing butta pipe dream
such improbable whimsical notion
linkedin and tantamount
with milkmaid and pail
Aesop pose fabulous incredulous solution
finally good riddance
hand to mouth existence
hello riches, perchance a dollop
and/or sizable windfall courtesy
drawn PowerBall and/or Mega Million ticket
whereby yours truly suddenly
cursed with chump change,
and/or abundant money
would experience "fifteen minutes of fame"
flush with friends and relatives
I (a misanthrope) never knew existed
(perhaps even marriage proposition,
no matter wedded bliss prevails)
interesting... how moderate
and/or substantial wealth
suddenly finds chock a block
acquisitions (regarding brand new automobile,
custom designed house,
travel opportunities galore
(maybe even vacation to Mars)
(despite coronavirus - COVID -19) prevalence,
nevertheless awareness viz immutability altering
pubescent stunted emotional, physical
and social development
profusely sweating hands, social anxiety
all the while knowing money
can't buy happiness,
yet once and for all at long last
free and clear of grinding poverty
cuz groveling along
the pockmarked highway
avails countless exit ramps
plethora of choices
how to be analogous to jolly Roger
piloting immense ship of state
(approximating size of Rhode Island)
equipped with the latest trappings
matter of fact replete
with every creature comfort
analogous to rich
self sufficient independent country
allowing, enabling, and providing
a warm welcome - think unfurled
Harris tweed Scottish welcome mat.
Meanwhile somewhere in Schwenksville,
Pennsylvania resident
(within apartment B44)...
tenant fritters precious time wishfully thinking
(luxuriant life within theoretical leisure class)
finding this nameless scrivener
invariably hoisting himself by his own petard.
Into the buoyant blue of a summer sky
I throw my fortune and my hopes.
With wings and wonder I survey
the world above and need some time
up there before descending back to earth.
Advancing throttle up I climb, rocket
like and plumb, to check the heights
of clouds and skill, rolling left, then
right as in a dance, light
with release from gravity.
Before my plane escapes my vision, too, I guide
it over a graceful arch, until fast approaching
ground is all I see, and while succumbing
to the appetite of earth for things detached,
roll again and again in defiance, cutting
facets from the burnished blue.
Pushing hard to inverted flight, I see things
from a different point of view. Pressure
on the stick reminds me that up is down, and
I must concentrate to follow a horizontal path.
The Extra was made for this, I tell myself,
and brace for more.
Throwing sticks to the corner I force a snap. In a burst
of energy my wings become a blur. Like a wayward
child nose and tail go off track and need correction.
The stress on joints and structure is immense, yet
my plane obeys with no complaint, rebelling
only at my command to return wings level.
Like a metronome ticking over the rhythmic pounding
of my heart I count my way through a hammerhead:
“Throttle up and push, and, wait, and… release!
1 and 2 and roll and roll, and
1 and 2 and throttle back… rudder!”
The plane pauses in mid-air – a sentry in the sky - then pivots
on a point. Opposite aileron keeps me in a geometric plane,
and earthward bound once more I resume the beat:
“1 and 2 and roll: to canopy, and belly!
1 and 2 and push!”
The lines and arcs I draw through weather fair and foul
are my signature, the salient points of aerobatic discourse,
a test of nerves and steel, the embrace of fear.
Breaking through that wall, I emerge
free to explore the boundaries of my craft.
I must look beyond the attitude of pitch, roll and yaw
to see the art that I’m creating there
from the power and pull of wings through air.
Holding a precise line against the force
of Indiana winds or the vagaries of a Midwest storm,
with sunburned lips, lack of sleep or
a thousand other faults...
ah, there is the rub.
It is no easy thing, and still I try
to reach perfection, to control the direction
I will fly in that endless summer sky.
It was when I reached my fortieth birthday.
Not so young, but, youthfulness ruled the day.
I was known as an educationist, around,
My intelligence and wisdom, they felt, was sound.
Not many were invited to my birthday party,
My friends said I looked hale-and-hearty.
Cut the cake and with all simple meals shared,
I felt, as though by all, I was loved and cared.
It's when I stood to thank each one that evening,
Something tucked my tongue for no evident reasoning.
I stood silent, shocked, perplexed and lost,
None could understand what had happened to the host.
I tried to talk. I could not. Tried again; failed!
Not knowing my state of mind my friends hailed.
When, after hard trials, like dew drops, my tears spilt,
All, around, understood. Lo! There’s some tilt…
They took hold of me and asked me what happened,
I could not articulate; all seemed so saddened.
Doctor - some said; That's what they soon did,
None could remove from my tongue that lid.
I, an orator, remained speechless. Is it God's work?
Or demons do such tricks that God gets the jerk?
I resigned to the state of affairs and remained silent,
Everyone around understood this and became quiet.
I felt my trouble is nothing before John Milton,
I could see; he could not; My path is, hence, silken.
Pain in me, yet, grew, like fire in a dry forest,
Though I seemed silent, within I had great tempest.
Having found no remedy in treatments mountainous,
I turned to God, who is bundle of boundlessness.
I surrendered to him and said - Give me speech -
In return, I will, your glories ever preach.
In return? O fool! What would you give God?
Inner mind said. What could to God you award?
It's, hence, I lay before him, as though dead,
As mute as a muted lute, I went ahead.
In one of praise and worship during night adoration,
I could feel, within my tongue, certain restoration.
Is it reality or illusion? I did never know,
Dumb will speak, scriptures said, if believed so.
I believed; trusted; relied on his immense power,
Many prayed during that very long operation hour.
I talked. They could understand me as before,
Does anyone know, yet, the truth within the core...???
God and God alone is the truth I firmly say,
Without him, for salvation, there is no other way...!
24 October 2022
ER: Enlightenment Recovery Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Hearing the news of 9/11 again...and it makes me look back at that destructive day
I remember it slightly...it's a sheer memory in my mind, but at least it's sunny today
Reading signs all around me and feeling at ease for a while
Taking a trip in a truck full of food items and I'm clearing up my boredom pile
Pre-ch: Oooh oooh oooh what is this feeling I feel?
My heart is made of the finest steel
These wounds I bear are about to heal
Hours pass me by and I haven't wasted much of it - even if I did, it's no big deal
Ch: I'm fulfilling success and failure all in one package
Pushing my way out...rummaging out of the wreckage
Now I'm approaching the lane of positivity and negativity
I'm playing the role of a hard worker, carrying responsibility
On my shoulders...there's a huge load on my shoulders
The future is knocking on the door of my cranium and the past neighbors of nostalgic restlessness blurs
I'm holding on to the last ounce of optimism
I am the sand of the sea and you're the precious prism
Stacking boxes upon boxes upon boxes...and watching the shipping man stack boxes upon boxes upon boxes
Volunteering is something I should always be willing to do when I am facing my lonely states
The truck is zipping through the street, making a whole lot of movement but I don't mind at all - as long as we make progress
Fearing the worst is something I shouldn't do, but motivation and hope are one of my most prized traits
Pre-ch
Ch
Blissful silence and guiltless essence are wrapped all in one package...they are the vigilant moons and brilliant suns
Break the eggshells of immense shame and throw all your worries down the drain
Refrain from driving me insane, expired guilt that overflows from a truck load of milk cartons
Why do I suddenly feel calmness and gratefulness at this present time? For once, I feel sane
Pre-ch
Ch
Ch
Honestly, my life has produced its lows and highs
Oh joy, how time flies by and bugs me like flies
That hover all around me like the advertisements of the city streets
Coping with the corruptions and temptations that try to get me hooked on sweets
I have planted myself on the front seat of the truck, feeling like I can relate to the products that are in back of us
We are both all in one package - isn't everyone somewhat in the same rowdy bus? I will work a sweat and not fuss
Even Dawn Cried About Death Of The Poet
They that see dawn in softest crimson glows
Having sought to embrace the golden moon!
They that ink paradise as a true gift,
Sings praises of the gentle month of June!
Whilst feeding at midnight the hungry crows
Sometimes with iron, and with eager breath
Oft each stands alone, watching dark world turn
Then she that inks paradise as a gift,
With compassion, romantic flames that burn
Wrote faithfully, even unto her death!
Dawn that foretells of living and true love
Helplessly seen as the poetess died
Cast its brightest rays to heaven above
So angels could see how too few cried!
R.J. Lindley, Jan 25th, 1987
*******
Dare We Pray, Humanity Wakes To Be Redeemed
From blacken hills into magical woods we wade
Where golden mushrooms ring shrouds of ancient trees
Praise God, that this earth and humanity he made
Although from great divine wrath it so often flees
In morn's mist, airy shadows rise and slowly fall
'neath hopeful promise of resplendent future state
Whilst those ever beckoning hills heed Nature's calls
Same as man bows to ravages of horrid Fate.
Therein comes immense pleasures of paradise dreams
Too often laced with folly of human schemes
Were it not that love may gift that which hope redeems?
Aye. Love and pleasure are as candy to a child
And thus sweet blessings flow unto those meek and mild
Whereas thistles and thorns pierce deeply those too wild.
Dare we pray, humanity wakes to be redeemed
From evil wickedness, that mankind daily schemes?
R.J. Lindley, March 6th, 1987
Rhyme
*******
From The Virgin Light Into The Dark Mist
There within such immensity of solitude
Rests a billion threads but a sad solitary thought
Of life, earth and barest naked soul therein nude
In worldly prison, dying entity thus caught.
Oh but, tis not that tragedy our daily bread
Fodder for rampaging fires eternally lit
We but sacrifice for those gods long ago dead,
And bawling mass for Hades and its burning pits?
Tis not mankind a true enigma and a bit more
Far, far more than a fallen fly in the hot soup
Once stuck down below but by own hand now can soar
Risen up by vicious might in one dark fell swoop ?
Aye! One may fear to such reality admit
As it leads backward, to thoughts of hot burning pits!
R.J. Lindley, March 22nd, 1987
Rhyme
Macbeth, remove this blood, I command you!
Give me the strength to see another day through
It’s hit me what I’ve truly done
Sanity has been lost but power has been won
Was it worth it all?
Or should I take the fall?
Out of this castle, should I leap?
Or should it be considered not so deep?
The guilt is immense, should I be dead?
My hands are stained with bloody red
No perfumes will wash this blood away
This hand of blood will forever stay
How could I have been the reason for the king's death?
Why did I let this happen, why did I do it Macbeth?
My mind is now full of scorpions, as yours was before
Shameful thoughts, and blood is dripping to the floor
How, how, how did I become so cruel in my mind?
I’m supposed to be a woman, the weak innocent kind
For my power, I caused you to kill a king
And now our marriage is owned by a bloody ring
You had the idea but it was hidden in the dark
I was the one who lit the thought to be a spark
Now you’ve gone on ordering others to kill
Involved in violence, for the safety and the thrill
How have I done this deed?
I’ve turned you tyrannical, now this poor country will forever bleed
Oh we were once so innocent and pure
Now the doctor doesn’t even see me to have a cure
As for you, You’re in blood, too far stepped in
Your need for power will never win
Macbeth, look at what I’ve done
Duncan should have lived to see the next days sun
Horror, horror, horror, I’m not meant to be a Queen
My hands are made of blood, they’re meant to be clean
There’s a spot marked amongst my hand
Marking my cruelty, why I did this nobody will ever understand
I’m just a cruel evil witch who cares for no one but herself
A disgust to society, a sly woman acting with stealth
And we aren’t even content though we’ve got our desire
As you said before, the snake is scorching in a fire
This burden is never going to go away
On this earth I shall no longer stay
What’s done cannot be undone
Though remember, when a battle is lost, it’s also won
When I die, you would have won by focusing on your mind
But please, Macbeth, turn back to being kind
Violence is not the way to be, and only causes pain
Macbeth, in desperation I beg you, go back to being sane
I’m sorry that my life has ended in my self and violent hand
Make me proud down there, and I wish you to understand.
T
A
TAJ J TAJ
MAHAL MAHAL MAHAL
[W] MAUSOLEUM IN [U]
[O] A MARBLE SPLENDOUR [N]
[N] AN EPIC IN STONE,A MARVEL [E]
[D] FOR HIS BELOVED MUMTAZ MAHAL [S]
[E] T HIS FAVOURITE AND MOST CHERISHED T [C]
[R] A QUEEN, BUILT HE,THIS NOBLE MOGHUL A [O]
J EMPEROR , A MAGNIFICENT MEMORIAL J
[O] MAHAL IN HER FOND MEMORY AFTER SHE LEFT MAHAL [H]
[F] ******* HIM SUNK IN UTTER GRIEF,WHEN SHE ******* [E]
BREATHED HER LAST, GIVING BIRTH TO THEIR FOURTEENTH CHILD [R
[T] IMMENSE WAS HIS LOVE TO IMMORTALIZE, HIS VOW [I]
[H] BEREAVEMENT'S PAIN EXUDED AS LOVE IN STONES OF MONUMENT [T]
[E] IVORY WHITE MARBLES LAPUS LAZULI,TURQUIOSES [A]
PIETRA DURA, ARTISTIC ,BEAUTY PERSONIFIED SANS ANY WONDER [G]
[W] THIS TOKEN OF DEEP LOVE FOR DARLING WIFE [E]
[O] STANDS SYMBOL OF ETERNAL LOVE TODAY RIFE
[R] ADORABLE,MAJESTIC REPOSITORY SO ROMANTIC [S]
[L] THE KING AND QUEEN LEFT BEHIND LOVE LEGACY [I]
[D] HISTORY WILL HUM THIS LOVE STORY FOREVER [T]
[E]
ON MOONLIT NIGHTS ON BOSOM OF YAMUNA RIVER,FROM PLINTH TO DOME MARBLE SHINES LIKE SILVER. IN EVERLASTING SLUMBER LAY IN TOMB THE
QUEEN WITH HER KING BESIDE, THEIR STORY IN LOVER'S HEARTS RESIDE.
LONG LIVE ETERNAL LOVE OF KING SHAH JAHAN, LONG LIVE THE TAJ !!!!!!
28th December 2016
~ For Concrete Crush Contest~
Glossary:
Pietra Dura: Inlay technique of using cut and fitted, highly polished colored stones to create images.
Selected by the swift sound of hand to shoulder blade,
The bells upon their ankles sounded like seven trumpets
to me. I had been a chosen sheep among the Shepherd’s flock.
Lead me my Pharisees, I wish to see feel the glee in following
the Lamb within me.
The weight of my new necklace, crudely crafted of twine and timber,
swayed in a schism'd rhythm between my shins
bruises born from my steadfast faith. For I have never fasted
Before, all there was in my Ziploc bag was a single raw egg,
Two slices of wonderbread, three matches with no book.
I heard fireflies bounce in the air between my ears,
I could not see, you see I was blindfolded, but I felt no fear.
The marching sounds stopped, balsam trees surrounded me
and the rest of the chosen tribe.
Night befell the evening, the stars jumped and danced for me
For the Lord thy God in the midst of thee is mighty, His strength
flowed like the river Jordan in my veins. I had no chains.
Never had I felt grace like this before.
We awoke with gnats in our nose, centipedes between our toes
We arose, and our trials we must undergo.
Silence is the sound of our worship, broken by the
wood bashing between our bitten legs.
The kindling was wet, the bread was stale,
forging for food in the raspberry bushes, hunger flashed
in front of my eager eyes.
Memorize second Corinthians, some stories
I no longer care to remember. I felt the splinters
in my shins, the twine singed the hairs of my neck.
The breeze swung between the leaves and sung chants
that worshiped the King amongst kings.
The counselor crept out of the brush, and with
immense embarrassment I flushed
any of the chances of becoming one of the chosen few.
I could not immerse myself within the verses.
His eyes struck disappointment deep into my gut,
his knife drawn I knew I was cut.
The log crashed to the ground like lightning, the
twine left my skin red and raw. It felt like the
sting of a thousand roses thrust upon my nape.
My cross was no longer mine to bear, it was the end
I didn’t care.
I didn’t care.
I didn’t care.
I descended from the shining hill, back to
the cabins and basketball nets. I had failed.
There is a creek I will never wade, never cross,
I drowned in my disdain, my faith may be lost.
Another camper, another kid, lost in the flock
of the Shepherd’s failed kin.
FAIR GROUND AND STADIUM
Remembering open ground and stadium.
Loud applause and cheerful noise to hear.
Games, shows, fair, exhibitions, circus at random
attracting populace throughout the year.
Memories of immense joy on childhood day
Moving in circular motion on swinging wheel.
Rustic village seller knew well to play
flute violin in tune for kids to thrill.
Now video games startling kids in fair ground.
In stadium robot toys speak, make movement,
Yet still fireworks and crackers produce loud sound.
Present crowd on clamor as in past with excitement.
10/29/17 Photo 1
The sounds of The Past Contest by Eve Roper
Third Place
Part One of Two
Mary Elizabeth Frye Dedication Poems, Seventh Poet Honored
Part One
(1.)
Graveyard Visit, Seeing Death's Saddest Truth
Walking rows of silent tombstones that litter in my head
I see far more than just faces of buried ancient dead
I see epic battles some lost and long journeys some made
I see long lines trekking through hell's gate as if on parade!
Lo! Great and dooming are the vain vanities of mankind
Blindness, racing ahead not seen they are falling behind
Appetites for darkness and immense greed, they think are needs
They indulge lusts, oft by making innocent humans bleed!
Alas! Dark lust, evil culprit, deeply woven within
Tempting powers grown massively by rewards of past sins
As these ghosts cry out their sorrowful and tragic tales
I hear in not too distant background, hell's loud ringing bells!
As I bid one and all a merry and thoughtful goodbye
Into one great crowd they gathered, all with tearful sad eyes!
Robert J. Lindley, 1-11-2019
Sonnet, ( Man, As The Sad And Fallen Creature)
Dedicated to Mary Elizabeth Frye, poet dedication series.
Mary Elizabeth Frye dedication poem
(2.)
Those Deep Moaning About Life's Many Curses, Its Hardest Hits
Those that beg for Herculean body and Socratic mind
I pray reading these verses you think them not too, too unkind
Nothing bad about imagination and cherished desires
Such is mighty fuel that kindles ambition's hottest fires!
Those caring about not being fleet of foot and stout of heart
Or beautiful in appearance and raving as genius smart
Fear not, for such gifts of flesh are but foolish fantasy gold
Too oft disappearing when your human container grows old!
Those deep moaning about life's many curses, its hardest hits
Wading in its nasty cesspools, and in its blackest of pits
Be of good cheer, if your blind soul can accept these wizened words
Open your eyes, sing about love, stop tramping along in herds.
So you got cherished Herculean body, Socratic mind
Have fun stumbling through miserable life while still stone-cold blind!
Robert J. Lindley, 2-19-2019
Sonnet in Fifteen, ( Truth About Man As A Fallen creature)
dedicated to Mary Elizabeth Fyre, poets dedication series.
Syllables Per Line: 0 15 15 15 15 0 15 15 15 15 0 15 15 15 15 0 15 15
Total # Syllables: 210
Total # # Words: 142