Long Italian sonnet Poems | Poetry

Long Italian sonnet Poems. Below are the most popular long Italian sonnet by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Italian sonnet poems by poem length and keyword.

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Long Poems
Long poem by John Beam | Details

Fighting For Love

 
My sweetness to you alone will I sing
Tenderly of the lovely things you are
Heavenly star you are brightest by far
Lonely nights with nothing under my wing
My gentleman caller this song does bring
A pedestal so high can you reach afar
As I have heard many a shooting star
Lonely nights no music upon my strings
Nightly courtship becomes a loving duel
Is it death do us part or just apart
As one has wings to fly to a jewel
One is able to play but has head start
Ignited within the fire and fuel
The night music becomes one beating heart

Copyright © John Beam | Year Posted 2015


Long poem by norma bertrand | Details

in hico,texas;

city limits;on 2nd street and elizabeth avenue,near a tire shop,and its where billy 
the kid the out law lived and died;as brushy bill,so sad,yet here stood by those 
very same street names in real life,his last 3rd living descendent, generation gap 
as i guess we could of called it now!he wasnt dead,like all would of like to 
believed or masked;he was my son,mr pj bertrand jr,and me im his mom;norma 
jay bertrand the writer4386/homeless international poet of the usa/07!in reality 
how practical does that sound,but my son at 24 years of age looks more 
idenitical to him every day,its gets kinda spooky!in and out of hico,texas,except 
here he was by the same stop sign holding a white plastic sign with a christian 
quote on that read on wed,oct 26,05 can gods people help this family in 
america;why?we that is i and my family was out on a personal fundraiser walk on 
our own;since we were victims of both hurricanes and had no address physically 
and lived in our suv;that eventually quit.no organizations cared and femur refused 
to aid us;so we did it on our own,headed toward dublin,texas no less;off hw y6 
north west for that one paticular night,it was where no one was giving rides and 
only passing us by;like a real loser we felt inside;in and out of hico,texas,what 
they didnt want to realise;billy the kid wasnt missing he was right there by my 
side on the side of a abandoned house of white stone;resting my shattered knee 
caps due to my bone cancer,on 2nd street and elizabeth avenue i was then 
petting billy the kid who resemblance could kill a real deer that happened by! and 
it could of been seen on the back on a rural map;its where njay wrote this on the 
side of the ditch,if the residents came up and some would be in literal tears 
telling him do you know who you look like;he could only nod yes mam or sir!and 
sigh!believe it!ask the manager of chicken express cafe america;if you think i 
lie;its more than just a word of mouth!i and he was both in and out of hico ,texas 
and thankgod it wasnt in the south;yet no body asked how?nor had the nerve to 
smile or laugh!or saw wowl!his living legacy america!is in actual replica on your 
streets;a remake of the notorious gun slinger of the west in and out of hico,texas 
call me and you can see him more than twice;at 409-679-5423

Copyright © norma bertrand | Year Posted 2005


Long poem by John Beam | Details

Loving The Fight

Taming a warrior no end in sight
Enticing lockspiel enters the mind
Clashing wings the battle intertwined
Night music and rhymes did ignite
Flames are never consuming bright
Sparking forge winning losing combined
Climax never intends but is climbed
But this dance is all about the flight
Catching a falling star may be harder
For a conscript may bleed losing heart
The seasoned at home it is his right
To only capture midst all the ardor
Victory so sweet but losing so tart

Copyright © John Beam | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Andre Rogers | Details

CONFUSED Pt1-2

Confused


Unusually perplexed like an origami
Why is life constantly so hard for me
Turn off the sun I’ll still shine
But I can’t seem to get that in my mind
Not even with you eyes open wide
Could you see my pain inside
I am that son who hasn’t won
Im the one who gets the job done
Impatient but truly God fearing 
Trustworthy but had of hearing
I’m like a fly caught in a web
I’m like a teacher who can’t spell
I’m like a hiker who doesn’t hike
I’m like a pedal without a bike
I am that tree with good roots
I am durable like brand new boots 
I am likeable and intriguing
I am honest and believing 
When one door slams another will open
I answered the knock it went to be unspoken
I have used and be misused
I love her and he loves her and she loves him 
Oh now I am really 
Confused

Like a twig on the shoulders of a might stream
The world around me is not as it seems
Cluttered thoughts like a bag of fog
Stripped of faith like a slaughtered hog
My agony hurts like salt to an open wound
My mind wanders like a fly in a crowded room
I am that dream as well as that nightmare
The one to hate but also the one to care
I am handsome and yet ugly inside
I can be that calm river or that rushing tide
Like a stone tossed i9nto a smooth lake 
Don’t want to try because I might lose
Don’t’ know which way to choose
That’s why I am so confused

All my inner motives have no depth at all
Was on my feet at times but back down to a crawl
What does it take to start anew
To rid myself of these wordly blues
Am I me or am I blind and can’t see
Are you really there or is it a fantasy
These things often enter into my thoughts
By our minds being battlegrounds for struggles fought 
We wish we may and we wish we might
What really is day and really is night
I stand on top of the world 
I am rubbish like a tarnished pearl
I have paid all my dues
Maybe I didn’t though that’s why I continue to be confused.

Copyright © Andre Rogers | Year Posted 2012

Long poem by Daniel Turner | Details

Night Angel - Collaborating Sonnets with Lin Lane

In deep slumber madness, she comforts me
Appearing, unencumbered, from the mist
Subconscious suspension our nightly tryst
Erasing my mind of bad memories
She mends and warms my soul so tenderly
Imbibing my thoughts and heart with her kiss
Lovingly fulfills a long ago wish
Thankfully restoring my sanity
Regularly she visits in silence
Enlightening my dreams with wholesomeness
Wiping my tears of angered betrayal
Exchanging her love for malevolence
I awaken with renewed happiness
Refreshed from the angelic portrayal

                  **********
Rest easy, dear one. Night Angel is here
To ease the worry from your furrowed brow
Kiss to the cheek, I lay upon you now
In your sweetest dream you will feel me near
Memories of your past no longer live
No need for tears to fall from pain or stress
Tender love I offer in my caress
Gift of my thoughts to you this night I give
Wake on the morrow, glad to greet the sun
Knowing night has me coming through the mist
To comfort once more when your cheek is kissed
As Night Angel hovers o're her loved one
Though I must wait till night sends its moonbeams
I shall never leave you lost in your dreams

                 **********
Undeserving am I, for such mercy 
A sinner and tormented vagabond 
Cavorting with strumpets in Babylon 
Rendering my soul hungry and thirsty 
Yet nightly, through the mist you come tersely 
Descending with your kindness from beyond 
Blessed with your kiss my memories abscond 
Overfilling my heart with love firstly 
Night Angel, I have prayed for forgiveness 
From the midst of my dreams, am again whole 
By the magnificence of your meekness 
My conscience is now bending from stiffness 
The morning sun brings new light to my soul 
Now no longer will ever go sleepless




    Original Sonnets by Lin Lane and Daniel Turner "poemdog"

Copyright © Daniel Turner | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Nadia Shahwan | Details

My Father

My father...
You are a unique flower
This is how I keep you
In my heart forever
Until the sunset waves goodbye
My father...
You dwell now in the heart of Jesus Christ
Since with your strongest faith and blissful honor
You pleased our Lord, Jesus Christ, who
Visited your humble radiant home
In the middle of a calm night
And hugged your ardent soul
With an eternal blessing..
Your beautiful memory, my father, and
Your beautiful poetry will linger
Over Palestinian heights, your homeland,
And shine passionately forever.

This poetry was composed and translated to English and Spanish by his two daughters:
Suheila Zeidan and Nadia Shahwan in the memory of their father, Panayot Zeidan, who was
known as the poet of Palestine. He lived in Aruba for over twenty years working and
studying philosophy. He was a member in the Palestinian Book League, he worked as a
language teacher in addition to his small business as a merchant, and he composed
bounteous poetry that bloomed from his kernel with a great love for his country, Palestine.

Mi padre... 
Usted es una flor única, 
esto es cómo mantenerle en mi corazón para siempre, 
hasta que despide de la puesta del sol. 
Mi padre... 
Usted detenerme ahora en el corazón de Jesucristo, 
desde su fe más fuerte y dichosos honor; 
complace nuestro Señor, Jesucristo, 
que visitó su humilde casa radiante, 
en medio de una noche tranquila 
y abrazó a su alma ardiente 
con una eterna blessing… 
Su memoria hermosa, mi padre 
y su poesía hermosa se 
persistir en alturas de palestinas, su patria 
y brillan apasionadamente para siempre.

Copyright © Nadia Shahwan | Year Posted 2009

Long poem by Yolanda Jones | Details

christmas in milan italy

this christmas started out just the same 
as all thee other one's i mean mom 
baking her famous fruit cake 
while my two aunt argue back and forth

over my uncle paulie being late with the turkey again
spending hours on his famous meatball sauce
quite the ritual as everyone does their part 
about midday thee sorting of christmas lights
 
awaiting aunt sister mary agnes to come 
strolling in with a fresh cut tree  
she finds every year at our lady of mount carmel 
faithfully father carmine always picks the wreath 

bringing a bottle of russo to enhance the mood
but what did i know soon pop rushes to the cellar
retrieving his state of thee art
phonographic record player way before our time 

he would say struggling with the cords of an old rca 
clutching his 78 record collection of frank sinatra
mario lanza nat king cole the andrew sisters lawrence welk  
by now i had drifted into stage four of boredom 

when the annual box of ornaments pass by 
being carried by my clumbsy brother anthony 
tangled in the cords of pop's record player again
he chuckles at the busy lad the song began to sound

my nona and uncle luigi start arranging the chairs 
making a dance floor italian pastries are being served 
with long belly laughs forcefully bringing them all to tears 
year after year my aunts began to cry with happiness 

pinching cheeks when everyone stop's what they were doing 
to join in a tarantella dance pop catches me pouting 
he began to sing along chanting his favorite song capturing 
my smile with what's a matter you hey what are gonna say hey 
don't you like a this place hey shut up a your face

Copyright © Yolanda Jones | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by harmony peter | Details

sweatdrops of a suffering civil servant

                                                                                         
 one by one, drop by drop they 
fall.                                                                                    
 squinting faces,the civil sevant they 
call.                                                                                    
 "worker of the nation",the toiler 
backstage.                                                                               
 sweat no more,now blood runs down the 
faces,                                                                                   
 a corrupt nation,like wrongly tied shoe 
laces;                                                                                   
 citizens search for light,like digging through cemented ground in search of 
water,                                                                                   
 surely there are 
cries,                                                                                   
 cries in the sweat of the civil 
sevant,                                                                                  
 cries of unseen 
hope                                                                                     
 also of sweet pain...a pain which never 
ends.                                                                                    
                                                                                         
                                                                                         

Copyright © harmony peter | Year Posted 2005

Long poem by Mario Vitale | Details

Cooking The Books For Tony !

First the line/
Next the heavy sinker !
Dealing with Tony is like dealing with a real stinker !
It's so not what you know/
Rather it's in who you blow !

Out cooking the books for Tony/
He'll be the best asset in getting you a loan,
The pool shark Jones had just left the premises/
Out cooking the books for Tony !
Mr. Jones was sleeping around on the misses/
At one time he thought he was some contender ?
Pressed for questions his approach was all wrong/
Out there painting the town then sleeping with the fishes/
Yet couldn't even bother to pay the dinner tab/
Now their cleaning all of the dishes/

Loose lips tend to sink ships when there out numbered/
They may be out tripping along with Rosie The Derivator !
Hence, the line was suddenly drawn in the sand !
Yet too many there be that try to stick it to the man ?
Within time elapse their can come pain/
Like not having you in my arms is driving me insane !
Two Kanucks' came back from The Jersey Shore !

One knew Tone;
While the other schmuck was only half Sicillian ?
Tony took in the first,
The second shortly after when along for some ride ?
Yet if you really knew Tony/
You would have every bit of reason to run away and hide,
He lives to cook the books on the side !
Yet just like he loves his greasy french fries !
Today the mob still rules it's just in a different form/
We have no reason by which to run away and hide,
Only if your a Sicillian !

Copyright © Mario Vitale | Year Posted 2010

Long poem by Andrea Dietrich | Details

How Do I Love Thee Contest - Response

Here is the poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, 1806 - 1861

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

My Response (for the challenge of Mystic Rose)

You love me quite profoundly. That I know
From this sweet poetry I now have read.
So many things are running through my head,
Like how I might with equal measure show
My love for thee as splendidly, but oh!
I stumble with my meager words instead.
My quill runs dry; all eloquence has fled.
I call upon my muse that verse might flow.
My love for thee is beautiful and strong.
With trepidation I confess to thee
Although I never want to do thee wrong,
Can I love as well and as steadfastly?
Please bear with me; one day my words a song
Will be to echo words thou wrote for me!


Written Feb. 20, 2016

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016

Long Poems