Long Level Poems

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


The Milestone

The bay and titian milestone 
calls the universe 
On everything we have to remember 
2019 we met in joy
Raw in our hearts 
We gathered in love
Humble without pride 
We spoke in a voice 
They called us golden ones 
Oh yes! Golden ones. 

After the last quarter 
A strange duster appeared 
And erased Gift out of the list 
Many emotions were bitter 
Just like me 
That pended the elite Supper

Chronically, we arrived 2020
Which showed advances on arrival 
The stretching chain started breaking 
Everyone chose the birds they flocked with 
Classic pride developed its wig 
From the humble hearts 
Everyone real colour start revealing 
Like the rising sun in the morn. 

Just a sudden 
The world was attacked by Emperor'19
Everywhere was shut,
Everyone's lovers were distanced 
Nations dropped like flies
Love, value and unity quenched 
New fishes entered the friendship oceans of our comrades
In the pandemic period we experienced.

In 2021 we met again as earlier as expected 
As there were different faces, such were different shoulders. 
Everyone  focused on its target 
The class attendance dropped like a weighless scale. 
Many break, many strike 
Affect the 2021 journey.

Just like a flowing stream
The heaven sea journey to the left side
Gave the picture of the sun 
Traveling from the North to West.
Days in, days out
There was not a single day without a memory
As we all gathered for the new 2022.

2022 was the year of planting fame
Many people worked to be recognized 
The birds changed their groups 
Everyone humbled again
Trying to move up a bit 
As the result of the shock 
From the previous exams.

'Just like yesterday 
'I was a fresher 
'Today I am an FYB'
That was everyone's comment 
When we met ourselves 
In the final level of the journey 
In the 2022 summer months.

Despite the four years journey's metamorphosed 
Into five years journey with hard stress 
Joy crowned our hearts because everything is closer 
We accepted to involve in the final stress 
That has a short time
But so dismal, Lilly fell from the train 
Almost at the bus stop.

Now on our table 
We cheers to the love that we have got
Toast to the one that we lost on the way
The toast goes to every able that can read this;
And remember the memories we've been through
Which the bay and titian milestone 
Has called us to remember.


A Message

This is not a poem, this is a message for those who only come at my page to see flaws in my poem and in me, so they can make foul verbal comments. I'm not referring to my fellow poets here. I'm referring to my ill- minded compatriots. 

Some even comment that its not me who makes my poems. But you can't really know or comprehend what it takes to be a poet and to make a poem if you're not a poet yourself. As Bob Dylan said, "don't criticize what you can't understand." It makes me smile to hear nonsense comments, like those saying that I copied works from other people when the poem is all about me or my situation, even containing personal details about me, especially those who comment that I plagiarize everything, including a short prose or a simple poem. You cannot apply your level of thinking or situation to that of the poet. 

As you can see, every poem we make here are copyrighted the moment we make it, and many if not most of them are made for a specific competition under specific criteria set by the judges, so there's no way we just take poems from somewhere and place them here, especially if our intention is to place in the competition. 

One thing that you should understand is that every poem is unique, because the condition under which it was written cannot be exactly duplicated in another time and another place. This means that except for competitions with open themes that may accept poems that were already written, poets write based on their feelings, emotion, state of body and mind, prevailing inspiration and other surrounding circumstances the time they write, which make them the only person who can explain the exact meaning of their poems. When one plagiarizes a work, he only copies the lyrics but not the essence of the work as when it was made by the writer, and definitely, the skill behind the making of the work cannot be plagiarized. That sets the difference between the person pretending and the real maker of the work. So there's no point in copying works from other people because there is no essence of self fulfilment in it. 

Every poem here is open for everyone to see. If we'd be putting plagiarized works here everyday, we'd be slapped with countless charges. Besides, the admins of this site do not allow plagiarized works to be placed here. This is a site for lovers of poetry and not for haters.

December 23, 2023, PST, SPC
Form: Prose

Theres a Pedophile In the House

There's A Pedophile In The House...
(ah...ah...ah...ham eye white...???)

OMG,... and he looks...
     SAY WHAT??? just like me???,...
     absolutely NO WAY!!!,
would this sensitive,
     respectful, "FAKE" veejay
quiet-natured, mindful,
     loving, kind, underplay
justice invoking, hew today

mainly, gentle, friendly, "I say"
enlightened, democratic chap redisplay
any besotted abominable,
     blamable, culpable, quay
esse chin hubble
     despicable, execrable prey
dot door formidable,
     inhospitable...overplay

ying faux indulgent,
     NOR be mistaken
     to assay, betray, convey,
display, expressway more fay
     writ his'm to
     gainsay hearsay, inveigh
jaw dropping "FAKE"
     yuge weak accusations

(by a long shot), sans
     basket of conspiring deplorables
     attempting to assassinate
bigly believe me tubby "stupid"
     winning loser to berate,
who doth unequivocally create
mine substantial vocabulary rumor,
     versus 4th grade reading level

     trumpeting librettist - thee great
test Don Quixote
     (as falsely sung with hate
full sotto voce), and ramped up
     as ill suited mate
a minus [sic] zero moron,
     which doth hapt
     tubby incredibly tremendous

     disservice to bona fide classy idiots
     with a lot of money
     (like the millions and billions
     of my golfing confrères)
given bent iron golf clubs
     used by crooked Hillary,
     when former Secretary of State
     ideal for Putin on the Ritz

by far less exciting, with
     Bill Clinton's flirtatious flits
trained pudenda purse
     sin null property
     of intern (NO FALLACY)
     topped as southern delicacy dish
consume mated with buttered grits
     pricked prurient peccadilloes licks

suddenly recalling seminal kicks
starting, how with Little Rock kits
he received assistance,
     sans starts and fits,
eventually then nubile
     ingenue Monica Lewinsky
     called time out, cuz at her wits
end once assisting helping

     express his "naughty bits,"
when done completing
     cum mincecd secrete mission
     blue dress draped 
     expensively furred

(i.e. tricked out) in her
     "FAKE" minx hiding
     sable animal spirits,
when animal rights
     activists vehemently protested
     out-coming result
     slapping former president
     with a PETA file.
Form: Elegy

Forgive Me

Forgive my ignorance 
But I will state some facts
I hope you will correct me though
Since we met
We knew little of one another 
I even didn’t think I could win your heart due to my joblessness 
To be Frank not many women want to be associated with a failure like me
Infact leaving me might be one of the best decisions you ever made in life
Today yes I regret much 
Yes I wish I handled things differently 
Yes sijui if I can ever face your parents again 
But I got a laughable idea
Yes there are many women out there
Most are beautiful maybe even than you
Most are also even endowed with earthly resources 
Also some may seem attractive to me as well
But God didn’t choose you for me when He brought us together not knowing this
Yes out there 
You have met many men 
Majority are mature not like me
Many can drive not armature like me
Others got big dreams and careers like school dropout and small minded like me
To be Frank I got nothing I can mention for you to come back in my arms
Yes maybe you regret making a son with me
Yes maybe am the joke of the year
Yes maybe I even will never meet your requirements as a man
Besides who am I even to  ask you back
Grace it’s okay you have moved on
But am the best you can share a secret with
Noone else knows your family as well as I do
Noone knows my family as well as you do
Yes you got your life to live
And me to got mine
But in the middle of all this we got a son
He needs me as much as he needs his mom
Well it’s easy for me to sacrifice my relationships as not much will be list
On your end sijui your decision 
But I have decided to be involved in the day to day life of our son
You to have your choice
......
I am aware of the hate between our 2 families 
Am aware that it may never be easy 
For us to bring trust to them 
But this time am willing to ensure I rebuild you back her
I want to hold your hand as we seek for God’s guidance on this journey of forgiveness 
If I asked for a date this is the basis I would  lay down for you
Hold my hand as we seek reconciliation both at my family level and at your family level 
This is not to bring us together once more
But to ensure our own son grows up knowing peace and love 
But if I do see you again in my bed let it be as my wife filled with love 

*Please judge me not with harsh words but give me a chance to explain my stand*
© Chui Munga  Create an image from this poem.

Making It Great In 2008 (Part 18): the Legacy Lives On: Going To the Next Level By Passing the Baton

many of us are living lives of deficiency
not functioning at our full capacity
running on a tank that is half full
coasting in a life that's tired and dull
we make it through each week but only by a hair
TGIF, thank God Friday is now here
we're talented beings who have it going on
but none of that matters if we don't pass the baton
to move to the next level we need to realize
that all the gifts we get from God need to be maximized
to move to the next level take someone along
to making 2008 great by passing the baton

God has an anointing for each of us
God has an appointing for each of us
and despite what it is we think of ourselves
God is the medicine for our spiritual health
so fall down on your knees and to Him submit
going to the next level with a renewed spirit
all you have to do is give God all the praise
going to the next level elevated and now raised
living up to your full potential and no longer stalling
going to the next level by answering your calling
anointed, appointed now it's time for preparation
so let God guide you to your chosen destination
as all things work together for the good
for those whom love the Lord as they should
going to the next level by letting God use you
passing the baton and lighting someone else's fuse

the devil will give you hell so just hold on
as the army of God is on the horizon
the devil will attack your children and your heirs
just stay prayerful for God's Angels will appear
when the Philistines went out on a battle patrol
they were unaware that the new king was under God's control
down on his knees King David did pray
that God would give him the victory that day

the power of prayer is the manifest
that you trust God to answer your request
the power of prayer is more than happenstance
it's the belief that God will change your circumstance
to be placed by the Spirit in a position to stand and fight 
for what you believe in and what you know is right
to put on the full battle armor of God
to put your enemies on alert and on guard
donning the Helmet of Salvation and carrying the Shield of Faith
feet shod in the Gospel of Peace and wearing a Righteous Breastplate
to know that God has already claimed
the victory for you in Jesus' name
so continue making it great in 2008 as the legacy lives on
on the next level at your full potential while passing the baton


Happiness and Joy

Never will another season bring so much joy
A feeling of love, togetherness and happiness
Ring out them festal bells and let’s be jolly
A savior was born, condescended, we are happy
We go to church, offer praise most joyful
Screams of delight, Children playing happily

Lovers holding hands gazing happily
At the beautiful sites, mountain's peaks, rivers of joy
Birds singing sweetly in the air, their songs so melodious and joyful
Every home, through their windows flowing sounds of rapture and happiness
The drunk on the street had one wish to make him happy
Give me some rum, he said, that will make me good and jolly

I played this song last night and it is so fitting, for the topic says Joyful, Joyful
It’s the season of good cheer, a time to give, to dance, to eat and be jolly
Only you can determine your level of happiness
To give of your means it is easy, but to give of yourself many cannot do this happily
Give without grudge, with no intention to receive, that's how giving becomes a joy
To exercise these gems will cleanse the soul; give warm feelings, make us happy

Laughter in the trees, laughter in the breeze, season of laughter, everyone is happy
Gift for baby, gift for mommy, gift for daddy, even the cats and dogs had to be joyful
What the world craves, so elusive for some, thank God in His love, we find great joy
Come one come all let’s jump on the bandwaggon, riding the coach called Super Jolly
The invitation is out, don’t settle in doubt, cast off your cares, ride with us, happily
Great people great love, warmth, sharing caring, all things good gives you happiness

Take friends, co-workers and fellow poets, toss in this great soup pot of happiness
Recycle love, make this world wonderful, song writer says, ‘don’t worry, be happy’
The world needs people who are positive, will see the best in others happily
A smile, a word of cheer, a few words of encouragement, make another’s day joyful
‘Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way’, what good is that if we are not jolly
The Lord has come, so unto this world be peace, love, and most important of all, joy

There is truth and beauty in the person with happiness, looking radiant and joyful
I would give my money just to be happy, to see my loved ones and friends real jolly
Luxury of life I would trade off hapilly, to have the thing the world craves for, joy
Form: Sestina

Carnivorous Cottage Routine

.
A whale in a pail is far more active in a gale or in copious amounts of hail. Putting money into sharks is a shifty act involving the shuffling of coats in cloakrooms. And clown costumes placed in the bowls of women's frames are reserved for the elite attire of lemmon lipped bowler heads whose acidic tongue holds the weaponry speeches of tomorrows gore. Pain is a painted potato placed with the pilots to place on a place numbered out and planned on maps arriving by facetious fax machines whose many layered buttons seek to halt a single growing grass level with a shard spoken key. Turning a keyboard to an angle one can visit the highest climate but coinage is best reserved for a large bull with a blue tie. Behind many layers. Many layers is not many lettuces it is merely many lanes. And lanes are lovely on a summer evening returning from the abbey to the house in eighteen fifty-three in long beautiful blue dress with fancy earrings and hair wound in a tight bun. Looking around it is unsurprising that history repeats in the timeless whorl akin to stirring an acre pan of stew or making sandwiches for two hundred people at a picnic. Societal swamps seek some swanky shuffle starting storms. And all the while the little pixies dance in the trees. The unicorns prance, the fairies fly round and round, and all other realmes folk sigh at the endless processions of humans making endless chain of woe. Cause no pattern to rise up from a paper print. For if you do your whole world and house will be prints causing visitors to arrive in many windows to create a karmic reaction and a reaction is a realism and a responsive reach but not a retch. Little frog hums in the kitchen cupboard. He is very bored today and would like to go visit the pond but the machinery placed there ensures it is not safe to hop and when hopping it often is the case that shots are fired from the artillery of the ant people in plastic helmets. They move akin to a swarm of kettledrums on a backlit of carbonised baking trays. Powder that then. Beetroot faced woman in that raspberry printed dress. And to encourage the wrath of a walnut is to embellish a multicolumn of static electricity. Wow. Mish mash mush then. Hahahaha the dancing in the bathroom door hahaha mixed-use mixers mingling mangy mincemeat. Xxxxxxx prese tart structure Paden tar xxxxxxx invertebrates z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z THAT;
Form:

Beat of the Aerobat

Into the buoyant blue of a summer sky
I throw my fortune and my hopes.
With wings and wonder I survey
the world above and need some time
up there before descending back to earth.

Advancing throttle up I climb, rocket
like and plumb, to check the heights 
of clouds and skill, rolling left, then 
right as in a dance, light 
with release from gravity.

Before my plane escapes my vision, too, I guide
it over a graceful arch, until fast approaching 
ground is all I see, and while succumbing
to the appetite of earth for things detached, 
roll again and again in defiance, cutting 
facets from the burnished blue.

Pushing hard to inverted flight, I see things 
from a different point of view.  Pressure 
on the stick reminds me that up is down, and 
I must concentrate to follow a horizontal path.
The Extra was made for this, I tell myself, 
and brace for more.

Throwing sticks to the corner I force a snap. In a burst 
of energy my wings become a blur. Like a wayward
child nose and tail go off track and need correction. 
The stress on joints and structure is immense, yet 
my plane obeys with no complaint, rebelling
only at my command to return wings level.

Like a metronome ticking over the rhythmic pounding
of my heart I count my way through a hammerhead:
“Throttle up and push, and, wait, and… release!
1 and 2 and roll and roll, and
1 and 2 and throttle back… rudder!”

The plane pauses in mid-air – a sentry in the sky -  then pivots
on a point. Opposite aileron keeps me in a geometric plane, 
and earthward bound once more I resume the beat:
“1 and 2 and roll: to canopy, and belly!
1 and 2 and push!”

The lines and arcs I draw through weather fair and foul
are my signature, the salient points of aerobatic discourse,
a test of nerves and steel, the embrace of fear.
Breaking through that wall, I emerge
free to explore the boundaries of my craft.

I must look beyond the attitude of pitch, roll and yaw
to see the art that I’m creating there
from the power and pull of wings through air.

Holding a precise line against the force
of Indiana winds or the vagaries of a Midwest storm, 
with sunburned lips, lack of sleep or
a thousand other faults...
ah, there is the rub.

It is no easy thing, and still I try
to reach perfection, to control the direction 
I will fly in that endless summer sky.

Definitions Continued(In Terms of Human Intelligence) - 2

Interpretivity is a measure of a person’s rate of understanding. A person’s rate of
interpretation shows the individual’s ability to unlock, identify, simplify, solve,
measure accurately, try to understand, restore, think, re-think, unveil, transcribe,
translate and hence it has a role to play in an individual’s creativity. Since the rate of
understanding is directly proportional to creativity, an individual’s level of
interpretivity is a measure of an individual's understanding i.e. ability to read,
receive, interpret(internalize-explore-externalize). Intuitivity and inquisitivity play
important roles with this parameter. It is the link that bridges receptivity and
reproductivity.


Narrativity ability to read and give back – reproduce without necessarily understanding
what is read. A very high level of receptivity, low interpretivity and expressivity
exhibit narrativity.

Reproductivity – ability to give back exactly what has been given, read, thought e.t.c.
without any sort of addition, creativity, subtraction, alteration e.t.c. It is totally
different from re-creativity. A high level of understanding is needed for reproductivity.

Re-creativity – this is the ability to re-modify, re-adjust, re-define, re-alter,
re-model, re-shape e.t.c. an already existing-created-discovered altered creativity. For
re-creativity to be achieved, some absolute understanding about the substance in question
i.e. to be re-created must have been undergone. It is an alteration to creativity. It is
correctional adjustment to creativity.

Correctivity is the process of re-mending-mending, re-molding-molding, re-fixing-fixing of
an altered creativity-substance. It requires absolute-ultimate not only mastery but total
understanding of the altered creativity in order to perform this process.

Understanding is having an absolute knowledge and wisdom about something. It is the
interpretation i.e. (pure-total reception, highly active intuitivity-individual
perception-inquisitivity and maximal expressivity) that eventually must lead to
creativity. When understanding is at its peak creativity is inevitable whether by
derivations from the original-truth or copies of the-from the original-truth. If
understanding is directly proportional to the vividness of imagination then the rate of
creativity will-must vary from one person to another.
Form:

Premium Member Mountain Man

From Chicago to Tampa Bay in a Ford Granada some time in the mid- 70's. Unfortunately, we were not interested in mountains, because we took interstate 75 and drove through Tennessee 'at night'. We felt the elevation but never saw the Smoky Mountains.                                                              

As we proceeded south, our four year old kept asking, "Are we there yet?"                                                          Can you blame her?  We should have had at least one mountain story                                                                   to tell; and why did we not take time to enjoy the healthy smoke?                                                                   We arrived in Tampa by way of mostly 'flat lands'.                                                                                                                                             

On another occasion we drove from northern Mississippi to Atlanta.  While there, we not only viewed, but also trekked until we grew tired.  The visit on 'Stone Mountain' was a good one as we also enjoyed the beautiful water fall.                                                                                           

Fast forward to 1981, and find me driving a '79 chevy chevette from San Francisco to Lake Tahoe.  Oh, what a ride! From just above sea level to over 9,000 feet and the worst head ache of my life.  Our second child who was then four was on board, but he was head ache free. Nice sceneries, and mountains aplenty, but I should have had my head examined; not because                      of the elevation, but because I had the audacity to drive a Chevette.

Later in the early 80's with my entire family on board, I headed up another mountain in Marin County, Ca.  This time there was plenty of room and  power in an 8 cylinder full sized Chevy van. Just beyond the Golden Gate is Mt. Tamalpais, but we never reached the top, because my wife changed her mind.

My most recent mountain experience was a scenic view from a Jumbo Jet.  Returning from a vacation by way of Portland, I had a nice view of *Mt. St. Helen 36 years after the mountain blew its top in 1980. No, that does not make me a 'Mountain Man'; but from where I sit 30 feet above sea level, it is rather refreshing.
08052017PSContest, Mountains, Julie Rodeheaver
*Or Was it Mt. Hood?
Form: Narrative

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