Long Indentation Poems
Long Indentation Poems. Below are the most popular long Indentation by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Indentation poems by poem length and keyword.
We know not who we are and yet we spar,
frittering away thus, the gift of life
and looking back see we’ve drifted afar,
with nothing to show save struggle and strife.
Let us then contemplate on our true aim,
that we may stand erect, freed from erst shame,
aligning with truth, in our life’s end game.
Clear light dawns when we cease to weigh and size,
embracing with joy, each offered surprise,
whereupon our false identity dies.
Make beauteous each wabi-sabi scar,
that vibrant heart be aglow and bliss rife,
otherwise we will have ourselves to blame,
for blocking God’s light within us to rise.
02-February-2023
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Rhymezone
PS Grammar
HMS @10 syllables per line
Fragmented Rhyme Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
Notes:
Fragmented Rhyme, invented by Constance La France;
it has 14 lines with lots of indentation and a rhyme pattern to follow.
No stanzas.
Rhyme scheme, ABABCCCDDDABCD
Line 1- Indent 24 spaces- A
Line 2- Indent 12 spaces- B
Line 3- Left margin A
Line 4- Left margin B
Line 5- Indent 24 spaces- C
Line 6- Left margin C
Line 7- Left margin C
Line 8- Indent 6 spaces- D
Line 9- Indent 12 spaces- D
Line 10- Indent 24 spaces- D
Line 11- Left margin A
Line 12- Indent 12 spaces- B
Line 13- Indent 6 spaces- C
Line 14- Indent 12 D
Steal me away
Wind beneath my feet, blowing though my hair, whispering a song in my ear. Smells of sweet nothing everywhere, fresh breath of clean air
As waters crash upon the rocks on the shore
The waves of this life takes us on a journey
As the ripples make their indentation in the sand
each line another path we must face
Wind beneath my feet, blowing though my hair, whispering a song in my ear. Smells of sweet nothing everywhere, fresh breath of clean air
As the buds spring when the timing is right
The clouds play a game of "What am I"
As the moon sits still in it's place
My imagination is going wild
with the freedom of this place
Wind beneath my feet, blowing though my hair, whispering a song in my ear. Smells of sweet nothing everywhere, fresh breath of clean air
The last time I sat here with a friend we gazed at the water as though
that moment in time would never end
As we listen to the sound of the crickets scratching
and fish jumping, a boat skims across the sea
I could hear the wind yet talking to me
I can't see you but I know your here
stealing free touches with nothing to keep you clear
Wind beneath my feet, blowing though my hair, whispering a song in my ear. Smells of sweet nothing everywhere, fresh breath of clean air
Form:
This wreath is in your eidetic memory, yet you should live.
Can you receive my lament, which is almost to happen?
There is no garland as I plummet, rattled by the sieve.
Died with you, can't revive, as you lie on plush and satin.
Earth collapses beneath its weight—why was it to be that way?
The words reflect that living beings are welcome today.
To read the stones, the lost will return home shortly to stay.
The shade of gloom fosters a dark and virtuous decease.
Stashed spaceship shrines to scold scintillating stars in peace.
Among the outworn headstones, the moss knows the lease.
There's a hushed quiescence here; no birds to chirp up or hive.
The wind moans, the agony is veiled, and the heart blackens.
Trusting that I would rest here, bereft of any rich ray.
Leaving behind all my acrid-gained assets through a name cease.
Written: February 25, 2023
This poem form is the Fragmented Rhyme invented and Conceived by Constance La France. It has 14 lines with indentation, and a rhyme scheme, as follows: ABABCCCDDDABCD
We learn to pray by praying. We can spend hours studying other people's experiences, but nothing is more vivid than an individual's prayer and its heavenly response. By Poet
The night sky was utterly dazzling with the stars' awry.
Breeze clasps surreal trees and lifts solemn blights.
I could hear my name being shouted from on high.
With a stunning show of a billion-plus lights.
Whimsically roving soul in luxurious zenith oozing.
The rivers and oceans merge with the spire's fusing.
Heaven's waves strive to mix with seraphic infusing.
Should my essence not combine with the divine?
The cliffs kiss the lofty sky, and the rivers shine.
No rose can be saved if it loathes its own whine.
A gilded, serene grace, adorns bliss and joy's way.
There are no tears or pain, only timeless rapture sites.
Vast relics of divine life, still sing duets and musing.
Heaven is an exalting golden sea of canticles on the line.
1St place contest winner
Written: February 25, 2023
Writing Challenge -H Words - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
This poem form is the Fragmented Rhyme invented and Conceived by Constance La France. It has 14 lines with indentation, and a rhyme scheme, as follows: ABABCCCDDDABCD
Made quite an impression, it seems
On the chair, I've been glued to so long
The indentation is an exact replica
Of my rear, hmmm, sounds like a song
Me bum and me chair are going steady
Only leave when I have to go poop
Methinks maybe atrophy is setting in
So I think I'll shoot some hoops
It's surely a result of this computer age
Our bodies will soon have no use
Our heads will be the size of basketballs
But our bodies will be an excuse
Excuse to hold up our 100-pound heads
With its gigabytes of storage space
We'll actually need some kind of device
Or we'll continue to fall on our face
Made quite an impression, it surely seems
On the chair, I've been glued to so long
Thinks I'll go for a ride in my old jalopy
An old Dodge I bought for a song
The crease in the bedspread, the fold in our pillows,
the bends in the doormat’s bristles, the off-angle shoe by the stairs.
The lip stain around a wine glass
and toothbrush borrowed, still damp.
Your tissue, scrunched, unfolds gently in
the bin like a seed amongst pebbles.
It’s your cough in the air,
your hair in the shower.
You left an indentation,
a mould and mark of you
with handprints that cover the walls.
You’re in that paint and part of this plaster.
A door creaks and you’re the hinge.
An envelope drops through your mouth.
Your skin is in the dust floating,
awakened by a closing curtain.
is the private chaos
that no one shares
or can translate.
The confusing question
is too difficult
to articulate
in little, shallow pools
of words or
trying for meaning.
Resounding
windchimes
don't just sway
without
sound,
or hope
of being heard.
They should be noticed
dangling
on the left end
of an uncared for
garden shed.
Walking into the woods
barefoot
in my backyard
on a Friday night
and sensing movement
in wings and song
is company enough
to fulfill one
of the cavities
other than those in teeth.
Something unarticulated
fills the indentation
and the hollows
of a rickety body
I call my own.
The main purpose of life is to live rightly, think rightly, act rightly. The soul must languish when we give all our thought to the body.
By Mahatma Gandhi
Sheer sneaking swallowing my sigh, sooty sky, unaware,
The lion's might had dwindled to that of a little mouse.
Vibes can be outspoken, yet fate is tying me in despair.
Everything in my universe revolves around my house.
Once I had insight, dark languid dashes shed no light.
Once I had hope, but a haze of hankering hides my sight.
Once I had the birthright, yet a black beam binds blight.
I shed my inner tears while feeling a sense of peace.
We pray every night that the slaughter will cease.
We yell as the world spins, and sanity is a flimsy fleece.
We yell as worry claws its way up the mask we wear.
Fearful of a skewed worldview and warped brain douse.
Yet, we might be asleep if the world were to end tonight.
If crisis slips, the dove may put his bill to lock a lease.
2nd place contest winner
Written: March 14, 2023
Writing Challenge - 'L' Words - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
This poem form is the Fragmented Rhyme invented and Conceived by Constance La France. It has 14 lines with indentation, and a rhyme scheme, as follows: ABABCCCDDDABCD
A gentle midnight echo, resounds through the upper trees in the woods in a tinkling way.
It is barely heard among the reeds where I reside hidden, with the rest of the scurrying things.
I precariously wander, listening to the earth noises, lest I be squashed by a heavy leather boot of the giants.
I hear a closer sound, the stealthy approach of a predator who sneaks, barely parting grass, with paws licked clean from his last kill.
Miniature creatures are scattering in terror. I have smelled this one before, the Eliminator.
My heart gulps as I look frantically for an apt place to hide, a rock crevice, or a tiny ground indentation.
An almost imperceptible hissing sound arises from the dew-filled grass close to my right, so I veer to the left, but casually, softly, hopefully silently.
I pass a childhood friend, a vole, who stands frozen in terror, waiting for the large toothed Eliminator’s mouth to clamp down, or the striped wood snake to rise up.
I give my statue-like friend my best side- eye glance, indicating which way I plan to go, still he does not move. Too frightened I guess.
I picture a green bull snake grabbing him up, carrying him off to certain death. I give him one last frantic wave before I bolt.
A new midnight echo sounds far above me. I hear it for the first time, probably due to my hyper-vigilance.
More frightened by what lurks in the grass, I pause before I jump down a crevice into the unknown, hoping I will see another sunrise in the meadow.
It's hard to live in
A world where
People, en masse
Accept this mandated schedule...
An indoctrinated philosophy
From birth until death
Abiding by beliefs
Of ancient times!
Tell me, where's the upheaval
The unrest for revival
A rebirth of progressive thinking.
I cry inside, biting my lips
So no one can hear my
Inner torment.
We are all unique souls
With our own respective
Blueprints, yet we
Squish and bury our
Distinctive gifts between our
Breast bones, challenging
The beating heart with
So much passion-
To walk the beaten path...
A path already made clear by
Our ancestors boiling
Under the hot sun
Sweating and bleeding
And tortured to death
Fighting for our freedom.
I cry inside, biting my lips
So no one can hear
My inner torment.
We walk this Earth
In open air yet making
No indentation on
Our own stretch where
Our ancestors played their part-
Existing only in the hell of
Powerful mad men
Puffed-up in relay teams
Passing the golden baton through
Nepotism, avarice, and
Mendacity... a self-serving elite
Us, the en masse,
Complicit in their every
Wicked whim, we
Wallow in this
Faux complacency
Of acceptance
As if it's all good
By ticking the
Ballot box.
I cry inside, biting my lips
So no one can hear
My tortured soul.
© 2015 Denise Morgan?