Long Laureate Poems
Long Laureate Poems. Below are the most popular long Laureate by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Laureate poems by poem length and keyword.
I won't pick out one special Poetry Soup poet
None of us are worthy of being a poet Laureate
Choosing just one who has skills shouldn't be a goal
It's like separating a favorite sheep from the foal
Saying its wool has the most beautiful fleece
doesn't seem to be the right way to have peace
There are many poets who write with quality
and if I choose only one, I'd owe an apology
to those I didn't honor by using their name
I don't want to be guilty and won't take the blame
for entering any contest on Poetry Soup
that might hurt someone's feelings in the group
Picking a favorite could cause further division
I don't think alienating any poet is a good decision
Congrats to those who earn it with great writing
No one deserves to be overlooked by slighting
It's my opinion so I have the freedom to say
If peace is to exist in PS, it won't be found this way
Some great poems are written as lyrics to a song
but naming one above the others seems wrong
Tell those you admire by making kind comments
Prevent hurt feelings and ill will before it ferments
Such divisiveness might hurt another poet's heart
It's not pleasant to taste buds, too sour and too tart
remembrance gentle like babe’s foot
smooth creamy warm
cradle handed down as heritage
here we sit waiting for christening
oblivious to what she will bear
what joys and anguish
hall clock ticktock
he is late with his mantras
to be whispered in her ear
soft purr of cat circles room —
nobody requires to speak
we roll new name on our tongues
over and over like counting
pearls on a necklace or
sweat drops down throat
even westwind is quiet today
a starling lands on sill
does not twitter, waits silent
she passes from one arm to next
wordless chaste enchanting
white crochet shawl alive
with granny’s hands —
teapot smiles rooibos tea
iced biscuits and cherries bedeck
oval oak sturdy, assured, steady
we hear his car in driveway
murmur a prayer of thanksgiving
still we whisper, still starling
has not flown or tweeted
teeny gold identity bangle glisten
white daisies shiver in bowl
petals endorse sound of name
beauty birthed has no time
__________________________
[Poet’s Note : Inspired by : Benicia Poet Laureate Emerita, Johanna Ely’s Poem : What Still Matters | Confirm : No AI ]
___________________________
I see life
through different eyes
than you.
The colors
of my Universe
are different from yours.
Therefore,
the words created
from my thoughts are
unique,
some people might say
poetical.
Life rouses in me
the unspoken emotions
people feel,
but can't seem
to verbalize.
So I put transfer
those emotions into words,
and tap into the untouched
depths of the soul.
I am merely
a weaver of sweet words.
But I don't mean to dazzle.
I mean to educate,
enlighten,
uplift,
while remaining anonymous,
not wanting
any recognition from others,
because God is my reward,
and the talent He gave me
is my trophy.
I am His Poet Laureate.
My name is engraved
in His Hall of Fame,
or should I say,
Book of Life,
the highest achievement
mankind can receive.
I don't consider myself
Poetical.
I am His messenger,
spreading joy through
the beautiful expressions
in my poetry.
You see,
I see life through
different eyes than you.
I think differently.
I am unique.
John Denver Poetry Contest
Anthony Biaanco
Gathered around a campfire
Folks sing, clap, and dance
Take me home on country roads
Rocky Mountain high
High above an eagle circles
A passing deer pauses
Other critters awaken
To listen to John Denver
... sing
... of nature and relationships
Where his songs light the fire
And where his heart lights the night
With wholesomeness
... and sentiment and nostalgia
As the night warms on
And more logs are added to the fire
The intimacy grows
A pipe is passed around
Along with a bottle of whisky
As women and men gather closer
To the man, John Denver
Seated in front of the camping fire
... and holding fort to his songs
... with a guitar in his arms
the sunshine on his shoulders
Bespeckled with his blond shaggy hair
Denver fills the air
... leaving on a jet plane
... timeless, down to earth and fun
For this night he played to the crowd
... the Rocky's came alive
His good side, he's the life of the party
Where the exterior of the man is admiring
Denver graced the cover of 40 Albums
Covering four decades
His superlatives include
One of the world’s best-known and admired performers
Songwriter, performer, actor, environmentalist and humanitarian
He also loved poetry (poet laureate), dabbled in aviation and Nasa
However, it would be pretentious to exclude his bad side
... and this is where the passing deer from above sheds a tear
... and perhaps many of his fans
Because behind all that charm is a curse
Denver, according to many accounts on the net, was bad
He was a bad human
A bad drunk, chronic smoker, wife beater, and a bit whacko
Denver died in 1997 in a plane crash, in a plane that he built
Today the Rocky's are full of nature and life
With tall mountain ridges, forests, lakes, and rivers
And well-traveled trails, like the man
Somewhere a motorist is pantomiming one of his songs
... and smiling
Have You ever thought of the past and said what ------- IF
Suppose the greatest POEM written was written by ---- YOU
It wouldn’t be written by me, because I just can not --- WRITE
Beautiful POETRY, alluring beginning, a satisfying --- “END”
As You sign Your book, smile at the length of the ---- “LINE”
Future POETS, standing, waiting, hoping to have a --- “WORD”
With the Author, the laurel crowned Poet Laureate of --- POETRY
From that time on, each morning You rush to read Your -- Soup MAIL
Praises from YOUR Loving Loyal fans, most of all From --- ME
--- THANK-YOU
I have penned that I write for the pleasure,
Not the wealth or the fame I might possibly gain,
But in hopes that when somebody reads me,
He'll enjoy and remember my name.
And I may get you yet, "Poet Laureate",
I'll have all the requirements, I'm sure:
I'll have lived;
I'll have loved;
Suffered pain and remorse;
And that one other thing, now, what is it?
Oh, yes,
I'll have various volumes of verses, of course.
In my life I may not have achieved much,
But something tells me, P.L., you're my due,
Though I missed out on Oscar, and Tony, and Emmy,
I have faith in myself,
So that space on the shelf
I'll keep dusted and waiting for you.
BITTERSWEET (A PARADELLE FOR AUTUMN)
Gone is the bird song that once filled the sky
Gone is the bird song that once filled the sky
Now the wind moans low like lovers in need
Now the wind moans low like lovers in need
In need like a lover, that once filled the sky
Gone is the bird now like a low moan of wind
We have gleaned from the earth its bountiful fruit
We have gleaned from the earth its bountiful fruit
The fields are empty, the harvest is in
The fields are empty, the harvest is in
In the harvest gleaned of its bountiful fruit
From the earth we have empty fields
The leaves are beautiful in their dying
The leaves are beautiful in their dying
This is the swan song of earth
This is the swan song of earth
In their swan song dying
the leaves of earth are beautiful
The sky we have gleaned, empty as bird song
fields the leaves beautifully, in the harvest
dying, bountiful fruit gone, once
of earth in need like a lover’s swan song
filled by the low moans of wind
O Singer of a chequered history,
Of brazen battlefields bleak, desolate,
Of life and liberties and tales hoary,
O of Song Celestial, ageless glory.
Thou hast outlived thy epochal story,
With dead heroes surviving still in state,
Frustrated for what happened, scarce sorry,
O Singer of legends of history.
One brother’s dharma and one’s archery,
One’s brute power, someone’s oath and bravery
That can’t be confined to an ancient date,
O thou that sang legends’ ageless glory.
Ye O bard two roles in one well carry:
Poet laureate, progenitor of fate,
Born of moment’s passion on boat-ferry,
O Singer of epic war’s history.
Ye sang thy song in such a swell flurry,
Even God of Letters so adequate
Had oft to ponder feeling nigh weary,
O Bard of an ancient ageless glory.
For mortal pens a task was it dreary—
To understand it well before pen it,
O Singer of a chequered history,
O Singer of ancient ageless glory.
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Vyasa is the creator and one of the key characters of Mahabharata, world’s longest epic of hundred thousand verses (each a quatrain). While doing translation of this epic based on some 2000 verses in three volumes, I was fascinated by this character. This Villanelle addressed to him uses stanzas of four lines instead of the usual three.
Villanelle | 07.03.2022 |
Friday the thirteenth, (September
tooth house hind nineteen)
dark shadows winessed scads of bats
(base sic cully lobbing soupy Matzo balls)
eyeing yours truly as seldom seen
human sacrificial cuisine,
which dime a dozen story true story
red within tabloid National Enquirer 'zine.
Minus blood sucking mammals more averse
than bill collectors or insurance companies
bared fangs greeted yours truly courtesy
of bloodthirsty nurse
triggering instantaneous qualm
ordinarily, I dune hot feel averse
nor nain availing one arm or the other,
wherein needle tip doth stick
prominent vein, yet an idling hearse
unwittingly induced heightened alarm,
on flip Wilson side... sense and sensibility
awoke regarding no impact upon purse
anyway death could never as worse
compared to hand to mouth
dirty deeds done... dirt poor curse.
A deep inhalation induced relaxed state
courtesy ujjayi breath
filled lungs to alleviate
(yea right slim/fat chance analogous
to one sniveling, mutering, groveling...
writer wannabe called upon to curate)
quirky rhyming scribblings
attempting to pass muster
easily, joyfully, worthily...
declared poet laureate
hence hastily erected castle
in the sky fate
meeting divine heavenly lorded
tailor tete a tete
gradually alleviated helter skelter
mental condition within pate
experienced sudden calm
displaced initial panic, thus great
ecstasy donned "FAKE" trumpeting guise
knowing within short shrift
death would assimilate
me, while providing fancy feast
where Desmodontinae
would undulate
this vampire weekend,
aware I prevaricate
and horrible anecdote purely
meant to demonstrate
how believability easily
wrought to fascinate
(ha) captive audience,
he/she exhibiting skeptical trait
might doubt claim (mine), who as inmate
within human zoo forced to risk death
defying daredevil metier height
figurative tightrope walker I gyrate
balanced on iambic foot in toto
all the while able to coordinate
vaguely flowing continuity
eventually metaphorical
erythrocytes coagulate.
Just deserve
I can hardly believe that this is happening
that I am just deserved
automatically reasonable able Just in true
within you o'lord
how can you believe in me but
And why God you're so good and gentle
And a peacemaker
oh Father Of Rain
rain down your glory honor and Majesty
you're just deserve
you deserve my praise
just deserve again just remember
just deserve where you come from and remember
just deserve how you got where you are remember
where you come from automatically reasonable able
Just tried and true
O God oh Lord how I love
You I can hardly believe this is happening
Oh Lord how can you be so good
And gentle a peacemaker maker of piece O Father Of Rain Down Your Glory rain down your Laureate honor and Majesty
Just deserve
You just deserve my praise
10/28/19
James Edward Lee Sr 2019©