Long League Poems
Long League Poems. Below are the most popular long League by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long League poems by poem length and keyword.
Comrades,Wars are the deadliest conflicts in human history If the world countries face a third world war really The fragile planet earth will be disappeared realistically. Life is only on the green planet earth clearly.
The first global conflict is the first world war first
Allied and central powers are the two major coalitions. As a result of the war, forty million people are slaughtered League of Nations is formed to prevent wars repetition
The second global conflict is the world war second The two coalitions are the allied and axis powers Over eighty million people lives are brutally ended To prevent the wars, UNO is emerged as a superpower
There are some worldwide large scale military quarrels
It's hypothetically called the world wars third The first atom bomb is dropped in Japan unlawful
The little boy affecting the Japanese genetic confirmed
Twenty five megaton bomb may destroy a small country Testing of nuclear bombs is resulted in climate hazards The planet's warming may prevent the world ending toughly.
Our earth may not support the human life further suffered
Comrades, human values are very important nowadays Though man is looking like a smart and civilized person
He is behaving like an uncivilized in some aspects always March towards the welfare of humankind as steelmen.
Dearest Brother Jerry.
Regarding our current government,
This has been a nation of laws
Based on recognizing the Creator God
Has given its citizens, that support its laws,
Basic freedoms, rights and privileges
I used my right to vote for Donald Trump.
I prayed that God would allow him to rule our nation.
And while driving across our county on Election Day
I was amazed at the people standing out on the street corners
And hanging homemade banners from bridges
Stating their support for Trump.
And listening to public radio commentators
Debating how they missed the Trump vote
Because they were all taught Ivy League philosophy
On how people should live and think as world citizens,
Which obviously is not the voter’s truth.
Our current President, to my knowledge
Never held public elected office or governmental position.
He formed a team of people with integrity and dismisses any
That do not hold to the requirements of our laws.
After a year in office, our President has
Shown strong national and world leadership
In our form of democracy,
Which educated societies are attempting
To gain in their more aristocratic countries.
He is not perfect; I do not prefer his communication style.
But he has gained the world’s attention and only one
World leader is currently publically threatening him.
By comparison our Past President was an experienced
Elected state and national official and an excellent public speaker.
My concern with him was that neither I, nor the world’s leaders,
Believed what he said because he did not follow through.
He was always seeking peace at any price.
He did not show strong support for our law enforcement and military.
And of great personal concern was his practice of
Worshiping with the followers of Mohammed,
Who have a significantly different moral code
And law than that which Jesus Christ taught
And which the founders of our nation generally held.
With my love for you for eternity,
Mike Dillenbeck
Who coined this term?
Who decided to limit one’s spirit?
Who decided to deprecate those qualities that remain hidden?
Out of my league…
What is the measure?
Who created the scale?
Is it beauty????
There is an inner splendor that defies the term
Is it grace????
There is the graceful movement of the soul that
moves beyond the boundaries of description
Is it shapeliness???
The shapes and forms of the mind, the curves and lines
Are unclothed in words and unseen by eyes
Is it sexual dynamism???
The body may be painted by an artist, but it has no power to satisfy
desire unless it succumbs to the promptings of a sensual mind
Is it wisdom???
There is the wisdom verified by degrees and the wisdom of the world
which is broader and at times deeper than the few letters at the end of a name
Is it wealth???
The wealth of the world does not even begin to tip the scale
In comparison to the wealth of human character…integrity, loyalty, mercy, and love
What is it???
What is that illusive quality
That demands the stamp of
“Out of my league?”
I defy it
I renounce it
No one can label me…
Yet...I am in a league of my own
Beautiful
Sensual
Shaplely
Wise
Wealthy
Dynamic
A dynamism that a label cannot hold
A wealth that cannot be weighed
A wisdom that guides inner spheres of life
A shapeliness that flaunts the norm
A sensuality that inflames thought and movement
A beauty that shines in its own right
Yes! I am in a league of my own
If you are turned away
By outer appearances
By lack of wealth
And the trappings of prestige
You are missing the treasure
The sheer enigma
Of a mind that is deep, unbound, free
In this league that I live and breath in
This league of....ME!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Last league of March, after spring had reached its peak,
I opened my doors to abeer.
And sunshine.
She grinned,
Wished,
Ran,
And shrieked in delight when I caught her.
The saffron on the curves of her hips is mine.
The azure on the rise of her breasts.
The dark, raunchy purple on her lips.
The vermilion on her forehead is not,
And when dusk fell, it drew her away from me.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Date: 29 / 10 / 2016
This poem was written in celebration of 'Holi', the festival of colour. The idea was to draw a parallel with the tale of Radha-Krishna, which itself is a story of an affair.
Econo Lodge sign
High
On
Its
Pylon
Best we can do
For you Tedeschi Trucks
To put a moon in the sky
Over this interstate interchange
Jammed with cars and a decrepit minor league hockey stadium
Advertising the glory days and beer swigging of The Wings
Glows over the deadbeat semis and construction cones
Tearing apart I-94 between Chicago and Detroit
Gleaming casino next city over
Mocking us all by suggesting
I’ll see you over here
The last great guitar players and their dwindling fans
In just a few more years
Yes it’s 2024
And for good our children have left the house
Its couches beds and kitchen table chairs
Like unstraightened frames holding all our wall photographs
Our dog doesn’t mind
Wags his tail with the additional luxury choices
For his many daytime naps
My wife and I look for familiar friends
Though we understand the band are total strangers
During these glorious last 14 years together with us
We don’t want to be creeps to Derek and Susan in love on stage
Though we were the first to love them both up there
I give a hearty wave anyway from the front seats
And I think through the spotlights there’s a smile or wink returned to us
The silhouettes
As the two and their band watch one another
Still mesmerized as they saw and sing the epic Shame
And we the audience smash our hands and shake our tambourine heads
How can the whole world not know more
About this travelling family of musical magic?
We know in our minds they’re the best band in the world
On the scale of Zeppelin or the Stones in their prime
But in the now
And here they are
Still looking good and cool and willing to share something better
Kind enough to stop over
Say hello
Between Red Rocks and Milwaukee
To this little rustbelt university town
Stadium filled only three quarters of the way with 4000 people
I’m sure a sop financially for somebody
But the masterful musicianship we joyfully hear
And we respond with whistles and cheers
As good as anyplace
As loud as ever
Afterward
Outdoors
The Econo Lodge moon buzzes and blinks in our rearview mirror
For our long drive home on I-94
Back to Lansing we go
Chasing breadcrumbs the dotted lines
Our hearts filled our ears ringing
Through the quiet speeding dark.
When I pierced your eyes,
I knew you were not of this world.
Memory stirred—
I had met you before,
in Egypt,
among forgotten corridors of time.
You smiled,
and I whispered your name:
Helena Petrovna Blavatsky…
Your aura healed
before it touched my skin.
You kissed my right dimple
as we gazed upon the Sun.
“Focus,” you said,
“Ray Seven shall birth The Secret Doctrine,
a key to the seventh dimension.
Fragments only they will grasp—
but a golden age will come.”
Then softly you added:
“When you meet my soul sister Annie Besant
in England,
pass her this kiss I have given you.”
In the winter of 1916,
I met that Diamond Soul.
She kissed me gently,
then whispered no more:
“I have launched the All India Home Rule League—
and I am exhorted.”
That night, beneath the oil lamp’s glow,
they circled me in silence.
Blavatsky, Besant, and Olcott—
their hands upon my shoulders,
their eyes burning with forgotten fire.
No words, only a current
rushed through my blood,
a vow sealed in invisible flame.
I was initiated—
not as a man,
but as a keeper of the hidden path.
As I turned to leave,
Colonel Henry Steel Olcott
called me from the USA:
“We are forming a school
to study the knowledge of God.”
I stepped out of the room,
lost in that knowledge.
Now I stand in the Now—
wondering still
Am I human…
or God?
Wandering the roads. It has me under a spell even at this juncture in my life.
Even when spiked brambles
scrape my eyelids or those tender foot soles are being twisted by tooth-like stones. Quaint and angular they cluster mischievously among
green shoots that litter every footpath.
They lie in wait, in ambush for the absent-minded unsuspecting venturer.
It goes with the territory for this seasoned footman of the road.
The labyrinthine landscapes are house and home to the spiral lanes and clover clad hills rife in my area.
Their rustic heritage now sacrifice to the
orphanage of a malleable environment
Crop farmers obsessed with harvest bounty.
Restless developer pushing limits of an urban jungle. Fellow traveller in league with those fugitives from the cockpit.
The pressure cooker of modern life. Town habitant with split loyalties who clings to tumults of the city but hankers after rural haunts of yore.
Culprits one and all.
A lair from the hubbub.
Dwellings of the strangest kind huddle together like dots in a matrix separated only by a minuscule space.
Their charm not yet eroded by intrusions of the steel plant genus.
Brick and mortar athletes of homes in a jiffy.
The more alluring aspects of tradition have been fostered and preserved.
Among these are the shortcuts or bypasses of a different more sustainable engagement
Sequestered passages that shave miles off perennial ramblers with a penchant for straying off course.
Saviours of the clueless hitchhiker whose load saps his or her every energy.
One’s eye becomes a lense to all these things hidden or supposedly hidden.
Optic sensor to those trails just slightly out of focus.
Those tucked away secret spots beloved of local wiseacres.
They festoon far flung countrysides at random. Here there and everywhere.
Posted ; April 2nd 2022
He wore the Jersey representing the
Smuck of the Toolez Terrific, the
team that has dominated the
ToolTruck Sports League
for the last coupler years. More
over the rankings from all
over the world placed these to
Doughheads number one in
America.
Your organization establish the rules.
They create teams they find
sponsership and bosses pay
and workers work.
Making the need of knowing
key to communacative suggestive
positions. Our fans are important to
us. We love the relationship
we have with them and hope
such a trust and understanding
can bring fans together
to create new fans, who than
create new fans moreover.
Place to place,
city to city
people from the World al over!
New way of conveying,
derived from the Aceint Art
of Sulpture.
they called it freindly.
she'd wear a bikini
nd stand in a tub.
they'd pluck
quarters and half
dollars at he
mid section.
the one the landed on her
navel
would get enough attention to
allow the fella
to use silver dollars
to do the same.
The winner would win the prize.
I’ll never forget the feeling—
everywhere I go,
the same questions follow me.
“What sport do you play?”
“How much do you lift?”
Never about grades
Never about my goals
Never about the future I imagined for myself.
I realized young
that my body always entered the room
before my mind did.
My whole life
has been shrunk down
to my athletic ability.
I worked and worked,
studied and studied,
late nights with my textbook open
proving to myself
that I am more than what they expect.
But every school,
every person,
saw only one thing.
They expect a cell instead of a classroom,
a record instead of a résumé.
a loser instead of a lawyer
a thug instead of a teacher.
As if my future has been already written
in bars and numbers,
in courts and fields,
not books and ideas.
I am breaking generational curses
with my mind—
choosing thought over a sentence,
vision over survival.
Black people are not entertainment.
We are artists,
educators,
philosophers.
We are more than a sport.
More than something you watch.
We have the ability
to do anything we want—
not what you want.
I am more than entertainment.
I can go to Ivy League schools.
I can be a doctor.
I am more than your narrative,
more than your stereotype.
However, you chose to name it
My blackness is not a limitaiton
my skin is history,
intelligent,
and resilient.
I am Black and I am proud.
I AM BLACK EXCELLENCE
I cycled to Hawthorne before the dawn,
Saw a deer on Taxter Road leading a fawn.
I reached a field of the kids little League.
Waited for the train, too pumped for fatigue.
The train passed by lakes of Croton Falls,
At Ten Mile River I heard a bird’s calls
At Wassaic, calmed down on Deep Hollow Road,
By purple flowers, a little stream flowed.
I cycled due west, for an outdoor transfusion.
Wethersfield like Brigadoon, but not an illusion.
Up its hill I pedaled, a knight on a quest,
But the statues of centaurs looked unimpressed.
Fountains flowed and flowers bloomed bright,
Well-dressed couples in the courtyards admired the sight.
More statues, eagles and children and men
Could have spent more time, but if not now, when?
I took Schaefer Road, counted side roads till the fourth.
Then zoomed on the asphalt, on Smithfield Road north.
But what goes down must go up, to switch valleys you climb,
Though conversely what ascend must descend, in time.
[chorus]
When the roads are quiet, and above hawks play.
Down I swoop, a nearsighted bird of prey.
Fields spread wide, like a golden sea,
New places to explore, calling to me.
Skipped Salisbury, entered Sharon, took highway 41.
To Amenia and Hitchcock Corners, a load of fun
Down one last hill, was it me who gave a shout?
Stood on my pedals, like a kid let out.
[end]
Back in Wassaic, out drained the ninja esthetic.
Now back to my life, but that’s not so pathetic.
Six days I work, putting food on the table.
Then I’m a weekend warrior, to ride into this fable.