Long Immense Poems
Long Immense Poems. Below are the most popular long Immense by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Immense poems by poem length and keyword.
I am crushing on you ! Dear !
Your pleasant personality allures me .
I am almost sure, you won’t listen to
throbbing beats of my wobbling heart,
but I can’t restrain myself being tempted
finding immense wealth in your mind.
As love is blind, even if you be unkind,
I am crushing on you, Dear !
I am swimming and sinking in dulcet dream.
Emotive urge surging in fervent fervour
. Bubbling blood flooding.
Pervasive passion pricking, piercing.
Ardent ardour whirling, twirling, swirling.
Amorous storm is spinning on axis of crazy confusion.
My expectation is swinging on pivot of your non - response.
Can’t explain, ‘How’? Or When ? Or ‘Why’ ?
Word ‘Perhaps ‘ may justify.
Dulcet Dreams pull me to soar high.
Reality pushes me down to touch
despondent abyss of seamless sea of failure,
causing even five percent hope to disappear !
Yes ! Yet, I am crushing on you, Dear !
.
Our guns were pregnant with bullet
Bullet pregnant with desire to eat bush meat
Our hunting dogs roamed up and down
Pregnant with desire to eat bush meat
We went as a group we were three and a half
Three strong men and me the half
I handed a cutlass and a bag
What need of me, but with them I did surf
I was so small then
At times, me, they did shun
But many a day the oldest of them said
the boy be shunned none
After a long walk we reached a fearful bush
Our hunting dogs soon spread, a marathon in the bush
What animal caused this run? None knew
But sure, our hunting dogs were smart, no trash
In a farther distance the bush was shaking
We crouched with gun poised; it is coming
Appeared dogs chasing a beaver; hissss
Bellow expectation, well, after its, our legs was running
Run and run and run, the beaver was stubborn
Our bones were weary, the beaver was stubborn
It went into a hole; we dug and dug and dug
For the day, all efforts were barren
Our hearts wore agbada of gloom
Our mouths said no world nor hum
The audience birds gave a mockery smile
As we made our way back home
In a farther distance along the way
We were almost reached home, our stay
Appeared a gad grasscutter
With fury all hunters gave it a slay
Easier to kill beneath our full force for
Killing; then, downed to us the work of the creator
Achieving a goal is not by one's ability
We went off, the days joy was sure
This was a real life story. It happened when we first relocated to our house in Ifeoluwa Fiwasaye area. The area was busy then, and hardly a complete building in our surroundings. For we, my parents were first to build house there.
Six months after, we had a companion, but the people in the house were hunters. So I did follow them.
Our effort on that day was immense to somewhat, we hardly walked home. However....
Agbada is big cloth, commonly wear during occasion. It is a Yoruba word.
Dear Diary..
I was going to tell you about this new obsession of mine..
We are past the turbulent early moments, when you examine the balance sheet of opinions and prejudices and have begun to explore each other - that most intimate verbal art.
Lets see.. He has a sharp and attentive mind not given to easy answers… I can’t wait to hear his opinion. He has a great sense of humor, (Is that because he thinks I'm funny?) and is so cool, but so NOT stuck on himself.
Love is like drama, everything is at stake, everything can happen, the center shifts and things, which have come to decorate the margins of our lives, can be embraced. The psychological interior rearranged. So it is with me now.
I must learn a greater detachment. I am far too willing to give emotional credit to this guy I have only known for weeks.
Whatever graceful tension I have managed to achieve between innocence and experience fades in the clinch and like a medieval magician, trying to capture the immense sea with a single spell, I long to steal a kind of happiness I know I'm not even slightly ready for.
I suppose I'm just a fool for love! =]
.
.
A song for this:
Fools Rush in by Bow Wow Wow
.
.
an early, high school diary entry 2017ish
If you knew the danger you were in you wouldn't hesitate
In not realizing the effects of sin you sit around and wait
Doing nothing to prepare everything else taking precedence
Oh! But the cost of being unaware is so completely immense
For if you only knew the fact that things are seen and unseen
And realize how we all lack, then you would know what I mean
But here upon the divide you sit not knowing you're even seated
I would have to admit it looks like satin already has you defeated
If you only knew of His Story, how Jesus already paid Your price
How all of Heaven sings His Glory and NOTHING else will suffice
How He suffered and died on that Cross so you could live forever
But this Gift you just toss going about tackling your next endeavor
Yeah if you only knew your adversary, what he's always trying to do
That he has only one worry, that you'll finally find out what is true
If only you had known of this choice, not putting it off to the side
There'll be no reason to rejoice seeing all along that satan has lied
John 5:19
We know that we are children of God,
and that the whole world is under the control
of the evil one.
She was a tough old lady with a permanently etched scow
Yep, with old misses Sadie you did not want to run a foul
Sitting out in her chair watching everyone who went by
Just the way she would stare with that one crooked eye
She never seemed to smile or even say a word
And lived next door for a while from what I have heard
There she was nearly every day watching every move we made
The one thing that I would say is that she made me very afraid
In playing with my ball it went bouncing over her fence
Banging against her wall my fear suddenly became immense
She stood up quickly in looking down right at my ball
Then she looked at me and I was only three feet tall
Then she gestured my way saying here it is right over here
She said it's okay you can come and get your ball my dear
So I opened up the gate as she pointed where it went
I never forget that date and what "I'm sorry" had meant
For in each day after she would always say hi
Even sharing some laughter or at least I would try
But had I known or even had a little clue
To what one is prone you should try something new
Vincent Flannery 11-29-13
Hmm, perhaps titled,
aye poem already didst aired
though revisiting said theme
downplayed as thoughts blare
though similar con tent
invariably communicated
sans, trademark pi Seine fishtail career
as applies to other questions,
this chap asks himself,
an immense task I dare
unleash unbounded kickstarting euphoria
within psychic calm'n weal
with a healthy dose of logorrhea
scowl unintentionally reader
mine re: noun verbosity doth ensnare
though oft times obfuscation veils merely
a black hole sun (son) prominence
asthma faux eminence amber gris
long ago didst flare
aware if chance encounter
in a dark alley coal less sing
burning eyes fiercely glare
yet, an explanation
would be proffered to hear
this penchant spurring confabulation
explaining (feebly) zest
yours truly experiences
expatiating honest to dog ness
figuratively go win west
word ho seeking me own mother lode acquired,
via verse a tile materiel undergoing
electric kool aid acid test
incorporating rigorous (mortise
and tenon constructed) adverbial quest
which wondrous, whirled,
and webbed woven semi colon aided nest
reinforced with double entendre
tongue in cheek jest,
whereby multiple interpretations
(ala mode literary splotchy Rorschach test)
tenants in common beau geste
ma own home spun faux
cambridge analytica gimcrackery defaced book best
bite, with absolute zero
data snatched aye evasively attest!
Since Adam’s fall the human race
has been stuck in a hostile space.
The evil forces wage a war,
God’s pure image they seek to tar.
This war is fought within our hearts,
with thoughts that wound like whizzing darts.
The fiend’s ghoulish goal is mind control,
to lure, entrap, and then destroy souls.
From whence spring wars which waste young lives,
that scar men’s souls and widow wives?
When reason dies and passion reigns
then wars are born in human brains.
Wars rage in the rejected soul
deprived of love and left unwhole.
The winds of war that within rage,
wise, winsome words cannot assuage.
For reasons that are not too clear,
some in their bodies feel real *****.
Men in women’s bodies feel trapped,
and women in men’s try to adapt.
The war inside is very intense,
and the mental strain is immense.
Many fall prey to false beliefs
while some experience real relief.
These inner wars drive some to drink.
Others are pushed over the brink.
Many find help that makes them whole,
and brings real peace into their soul.
So, if you’re caught up in a war,
don’t let it define who you are.
You cannot trust the way you feel,
to reveal what is truly real.
The ones who pander to your pain
are not the ones who seek your gain.
Let not the war your self-worth steal,
but seek solutions that will heal.
During an early stroll, did you notice a bird leaving his nest
in search of his pretty mate? But he will not wander off
more than a mile, if the first raindrop lands on his crest;
morning after morning...he'll take another flight over the cliff
chirping, " No season is alike spring over the breezy reef! "
The flower-picker, like a floating butterfly, searches for flowers
that grow in fields by a river and she'll sell them from door to door
to buy herself black high heels and a stylish long, red dress;
yesterday she sang, " No season is alike spring, smell the lively air!"
Today wearing those shoes and dress: she resembles fabulous Cher!
The town's square is a sea of solemn faces, a band plays a patriotic song
and being a day of remembrance, veterans take off their hats;
widows cry remembering their loss, others sympathizes them and sing along...
" No season is alike spring when flowers decorate monuments! "
Ah, this is a spectacle for the faint of heart...I must shed tears!
When sunrise makes meadows gleam and every bell joyfully rings,
one recalls that it took immense love to create that brilliant scene...
and all He asks of us is that we believe and offer prayers,
but night is for us to contemplate when all is silent and serene,
"No other season is alike spring with a sky so crystalline!"
We talk only 3 days in a year,
Like a festival that comes once in a year.
That too during Durga Puja,
And the rest 362 or 363 days we barely know each other.
It seems that I not only wait for Durga Puja,
But also I wait for those 3 days just to see and talk with her.
It's a 3 days one sided love story,
Which has a sad ending like all stories.
But there is a difference in this story,
That is the hero is the villain of this story.
In those 3 days I try to be friends with her again,
Just because I don't want to remain as a stranger all over again.
As this is a 3 days love story,
We neither become friends nor enemy at the end of this story.
As I am stranger for her for the rest of the year,
So I have nothing to fear.
Closer we are,
But mentally and emotionally she is far away from here.
But still like a gentleman I wait for her,
And like a gentleman I still keep looking for her.
I guess we are not meant for each other,
Even our destiny is far different from one another.
I want this story to have a happy ending,
Because after 3 days the pain inside me is never ending.
Those 3 days are just like a festival,
Which gives me immense joy for a short interval.
Like Maa Durga after Dashami she is gone,
And after that I am left all alone.
So we talk only 3 days in a year,
Just like a festival that comes once in a year.
From way down in "Bama"
Stirring echoes of Big Mama
A thunderous storm that brewed from the Deep South
Each word could be felt when it left her mouth
With her immense presence, showmanship, and confidence
She would capture the hearts and minds of her audience
She stood tall, shoulder to shoulder amongst the sultans of Blues
She didn't have to put on airs 'cause she stood comfortably in her shoes
A woman, a beautiful black woman oozing with creativity and soul
In her kitchen, she took lemons and made pitcher after pitcher of sweet lemonade that she always served cold
Oh, Big Mama you brought that good medicine to the soul when you sang
You bellowed melodies that reached up and tugged on heartstrangs
Oh, Big Mama I see ya' cookin' with your horn, too
Blowin', just blowin' so beautifully as only a few can do
You were so good that some felt a need to copy you and steal your money
Shameful shadowy expressions of a "Hound Dog" depraved music industry
Never to be replicated or duplicated
One of one, you were, but still, you're often imitated
From way down in "Bama"
Stirring echoes of Big Mama