Long Keats Poems
Long Keats Poems. Below are the most popular long Keats by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Keats poems by poem length and keyword.
They think they’re Keats and Frost of time,
Some pen-pushers are frost in time.
All they pen, not but passing rhyme,
Is set sail, a big boast in time,
Which, all of self-promoted stuff
Gathers black and white dust in time.
Let some prayers be said for them:
Their footprints last on coast in time.
Heart wishes well, head less than least,
I propose still a toast in time
That those that have at least tried hard
Are not treated as ghosts in time.
I too, perhaps as one of them,
Hope that their tribe’s not lost in time.
_________________________
Ghazal (tongue-in-cheek) |04.03.2025| humour, poet, time
I admit to have been influenced as Keats
by some remarkable poets who used unusual beats,
slowly delving into their very logical and intellectual minds...
so amazed by what they wrote despite their struggling times.
The first written poem came from Egypt: a hymn to Aron her god,
the Greeks copied the form and style with great skills:
Homer wrote the famous Odyssey, then the Romans
did the same and Virgil wrote, the long epic poem, " Aeneid. "
Who has ever doubted that my poetry isn't authentic?
It came from an unexpected idea that spread like wild fire at a very young age,
empowering my senses to feel, see, touch and hear without being too frantic...
by letting words flow as I stood by a river of knowledge.
Moving on is such a sweet affair
When the going seems harder and harder,
Yet the trail may be hard here and there
For those not seasoned in the faith.
I long for the pedestals of Lincoln and Donne
And Keats and Shaw and Dickens;
Such brim-full fame for rare deeds done
By a mortal from an improbable world.
How these shall be accomplished I little know
Yet the urge within still convinces me,
That I should stoically bear every misfortune’s blow
And trudge on through the iron gates of hell.
And whether in such strains the world believes
Or not, this lone soul shall move on till the crown receives.
For The Pensive Poet Poetry Contest sponsored by Constance La France
"Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter." ~ Keats
I'd like to travel, widely, near and far,
out rambling, leaving not a spot, untread;
but wandering by plane, or train, or car
is hard. Instead, I travel in my head.
My brain is, sometimes, also the place where
I struggle to eliminate regret.
to forgive "me" and those for whom I care,
though I haven't succeeded as of yet.
I often like to daydream and recall
pleasurable escapades of young love,
or when the world was new and I was small,
and puffy clouds danced in the sky above.
Now, my aging body has "gone to pot",
and I'm glad when I can be lost in thought.
What happened to poetry
And who was it that chose
No more rhymes in rows
That really paint our woes
Crows restraint still grows
Feint eschews all bestows
Cast of the past now foes
Taint not any faint echoes
So let’s remember all those
Each saint whose line glows
Before poems became prose
Enthralled by whining tweets
Forgot all of the shining feats
So John Betjeman not a don
Tennyson not a true denizen
Appalled no mining of treats
Silver lining dining on beats
Of Shelley, Byron and Keats
They scold old man Finnegan
Clear we no longer hold dear
Told never cheer Edward Lear
Jeer at another rhyming peer
Envoy of joy from yesteryear
Lewis Carroll it’s rather que*r
Fear don’t like Spike Milligan
Despair no old school wares
And that no one really cares
Shares Mr Dahl or Pam Ayres
As where are their flair heirs
Their pastime rhyme in pairs
Sublime as climb down stairs
I cannot contain my dismay
At dastardly scheme at play
Ignore what new poets say
Deplore every proper foray
Encore of gem Lemn Sissay
To spin is not a sin can inspire
No shirking the prophetic fire
The din of our poetic pariah
Right society wrongs desire
Smirking working class choir
Benjamin chagrin Zephaniah
I cry why are critics crippling
Tiff with any riff that’s tippling
As lovely rhymes are rippling
Shout how about IF by Kipling
Is limerick truly just a gimmick
Nursery rhyme is just a mimic
All my efforts are truly pyrrhic
Lexicon crime from older clime
Ardour for a larder in its prime
Duly checked into rehab clinic
Going to say it one more time
To all those who chose prose
It ain’t poetry if it don’t rhyme
Taught is a sort of dirty grime
Shirty don’t care if you glower
Rhymes cease rest in peace
They say from their ivory tower
Poetry they sour by being dour
Well I for one will never cower
Contest can amaze & always
Come what may.. will forever
REST IN POWER!
To Nobby Clarke I made a pledge
that I would never give up trying,
surrender all things (short of dying!)
to find a rhyme for "Percy Sledge".
Old Nobby thought he had the edge!
But I, pure intellect applying,
the glory of the challenge eyeing,
came at it like a flying wedge!
I didn't need to drudge or dredge.
(It wasn't hard, there's no denying -
no saturnine poetic sighing,
like Keats beside his withered sedge).
Now Nob has more than funds to hedge.
Aware of rounds he'll soon be buying,
beer into which he'll soon be crying,
he's standing on his window ledge!
"My heart is like a singing bird". Christina Rossetti
The Dilettante Diaries: "The True Romantics"
Once cages are open
the True Romantics
dance their dance
of Freedom
Hidden Keys
Swallows
air beneath
their wings
(Lovejoy-Burton/September 2018)
"I love you the more in that I believe you had liked me for my own sake and for nothing else." John Keats
"I love you more than my own skin." Frida Kahlo
"Nothing ever becomes real till it is experienced." John Keats
"Kiss me and you will see how important I am." Sylvia Plath
"I am in you and you in me, mutual in divine love." William Blake
“Don't look at me in that tone of voice.” Dorothy Parker
1.
"Giving In"
Club Kuru
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FEFwRSjfHk8
Why do mechanics need manuals when they’ve fixed it before?
Answer my question or I’ll walk out the door!
Didn’t they attend trade schools or get OJT?
Why need repair manuals? That what gets me.
I just want a mechanic who won’t refer to a book.
Just fix my car already, don’t give it a second look!
Why do pilots run checklists and reference their charts?
Just push the dang button and hope the plane starts!
Didn’t they go to flight school and pass all the tests?
Pilots fly most days, so who needs all the mess?
I want a pilot who knows without referencing a chart.
Just get on with the flying and prove that you’re smart!
What about the doctors who are practicing still?
Why can’t they get it right? And that includes the bill!
They’re always researching new studies in journals
When time’s better spent attending patients’ internals.
I just want a Marcus Welby, Ben Casey or Kildare
Instead of keeping up to date, I just want them to care.
Why do lawyers review case studies and legal decisions?
Such antics in my book leave them open to derision.
All that studying in law school should have been more than enough.
After passing the bar they should already know their stuff.
I just want an attorney who’s a know-it-all ace,
Not a book worm mouthpiece to plead my case.
Finally, the poets, being wordsmiths their art
You won’t see them referencing a checklist or chart
But look, in their hands, just what can that be?
A dictionary? Thesaurus? Are those what I see?
A real poet never needs help reading Shakespeare or Keats
Using Webster and Roget would make all of us cheats!
If a poet is real, the words should just flow
I think that all poets should automatically know
The right words to use, and literary crutches forgo
How dare they try better vocabulary to hone
They should come up with good things to say on their own.
I’m looking for poets who’ll just know what to say
Like Lewis Carroll’s poems in his heyday:
“Twas brillig, and the slithy toves, Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogroves, And the mome raths outgrabe.”
Don’t bother looking up his words, for that would be a dumb thing.
Using a dictionary or thesaurus, you might actually learn something!
I'm amazed at the sun
Shining brightly on high
I'm amazed at the flowers
The bright butterflies
I'm amazed at the mornings
With the coo of the dove
I'm amazed at the charm
And the power of love
It transcends all the beauty
This world has to give
It's what makes us all whole
A reason to live
To bask in the warmth
Of that feeling divine
A feeling unrivalled
Of true love undying
All the great poets
From Shelley to Keats
Have tried to describe it
How it makes us complete
What a terribly sad place
This earth would be
Without someone special
To share what we see
I'm amazed at the mountains
Majestic and tall
I'm amazed at the love
That we share most of all
© Jack Ellison 2012
The day is dull, almost
shadowless. I am alone; shadow
would have given me comfort.
Pages of ancient tomes,
full of must, call me;
there is always comfort here.
I light lamps
damning the florescent pall.
When bathed in the flicker
florescent lit walls become
blue-tinged harbingers of death.
I worship beneath the
shadow-casting gold of incandescence.
The 300-watt glow of my love-gifted
torchiere soothes me.
I place thin-skinned cheek on
chill of plaster wall, wishing to submerge
myself in shadow, but I do not succumb.
Ah, the page that calls, the keys which click
when pen has gone unfound, are all I have.
Why leave, my heart cries out,
there is only the cold of the grave,
none to mourn your passing.
Only the sterile page,
the plaster walls, the shadowed-stage?
No, I argue with my weary self,
put aside this Keats-like gloom
poverty and tombs, and rise!
The sun will shine at winter's end
to daffodils.
First Published Inwood Indiana February 2014