Long Literature Poems
Long Literature Poems. Below are the most popular long Literature by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Literature poems by poem length and keyword.
I write because my world revolves around it,
It pulls me to itself,
It’s ionic bonding.
I write because it’s a relief for me,
I overhaul myself,
My struggles and battles are let out.
I write because my muse opens its door to me,
It comes in a subtle flow
It illuminates through.
I write because it opens to me a new world,
It transcends me to a new realm,
I journey in an unseen space.
I write because nature communes with me,
I'm in relation with it,
Seated in its abode.
I write because its fun,
Seeing my thoughts and ideas in print,
Is a huge delight.
I write because it’s one of my interests,
If I'm not doing the others,
I'm drifting in its world.
I write because it’s a calling,
I'm at my duty post,
Putting away any dereliction of duty.
I write because it’s a career,
My services are given out,
In exchange for money.
August 29, 2022.
This letter arrived this morning..
"Dear Sir, it is with great honour to inform you
That with the perspicuity of realistic narrative art
And the diversity and universality of myth
Your work illuminates the human condition in the world of today
You have therefore been awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature
Cheers, you're the man."
What audacity
To disturb this idiosyncratic taste bubble
This stun and cut bluestocking
My 35 second play
My mango tango d drops
My surgical quality
I ain't getting on a horizontal float wheel
Stockholm can screw themselves
When reprobate blackguards are inferring
I'll stay here
If there's a need for shooting to start
I'll start shooting
Fun bags and polluted cities
Round off my morning, honey
Time for a tea
Medieval queens used to drink pints
I'll 'ave two for breakfast
I am not for sale Stockholm
Captain Hook went to Eton
I've got my bachelors
Leave this knack mental giant alone by-blows
After I write something,
to the best of my ability,
not ever putting my name
on a work I am not proud
of – yet, I pause to say,
Thank you...pleased to have
been blessed with a tiny role
in the production. Come
now! You don't actually think
that you stand apart, alone,
unguarded, unprotected,
entirely self-driven and
self-directed? Not a star
could keep its place in the
sky without the support of
its surrounding dark. What
light we have, what light
we show, is a soulful theme
burning in the heart of its
Universe. Miraculous Passion
is where we all began – the
spark of even our dimmest
perspectives.
Dear Budding Poet,
Modern poetry to me is the reflection of the chaos and
declining intolerance of modern times. It expresses the pent-up
emotions writhing in complexity trying to embrace our beautiful lives.
I know you’re a budding poet pining to express yourself and
aspiring to make a mark. My advice to you would
be to listen to your heart and transcribe in your own way what
it says. It’ll become a poem because your heart is the window
on the world through which you perceive the human values taking
intricate shapes, yarns of emotions weaving tapestry of joy
and grief, and the beauty of life designing ecstasy in your mind.
Don't ever close this window. You look out at the pristine
nature and absorb the elegance it frames. You would reach
the realm of exaltation when your mind would swim on
imagination. Let it flow in its own course meandering through
the landscape of your times. Wake up the muse in you and
let it float. You’ll then find formless blocks of words appear
as imagery. You need to use your pen to sculpt from these
the piece of art, your poetry.
Poetry in my life is like a perennial fountain drenching my
parched mind, drowning my sorrow, draining my tears
and satiating me with joy of creation.
My favorite themes : nature, love, emotions, fantasy,
introspection, desire, dream.
My favorite reference sources : www. howmanysyllables.com,
Cliché Finder, Thesaurus, www.rhymezone.com.
Titles of my favorite poems I’ve written (in order of preference) :
Atmospheric Pressure, Your Lacustrine Beauty, Through
The Opaque Night, Flowing Silence, As I was Walking In The Snow,
Searching You, Sign of Times, Kite Flies Away From Concrete
Jungle, Opening The Mind’s Petals, Embrace of Quietus.
My literary background : I’m an Earth Scientist having a doctorate
degree, published many scientific papers , received national
awards for research. My parents who were teachers of
literature infused in me the love for poetry. I started writing poetry
from high school days, published 4 books of poems.
Suggestion for book title : “The making of a poet”,
“Poems in search of a poet”.
May, 23, 2018.
Sun rises ahead I see the PoetrySoup
Flashes it's light in the sky of it
poet friends write continuosly
A distant great field of literature
tied with art and worlwide culture
strengthens brotherhood relationship
Huge enlightened writings are there
lovely thoughts of insight penned well
with glittering words in their own style
Everyone gives information
what is concepted in conception
truth carries to many long miles
A knowledge sharing home
I keep my heart there to bloom
with love of all…………………………
For Contest:
Sponsored by: Carol Brown
Written by: bldevnath
on 14/01/2012
Backup book, Dr. Hudson's Secret Journal,
prequel to The Magnificent Obsession,
lags behind, but clarifies its kernel,
secret key for a medical profession.
The basic skills of healing are internal,
excellence demands good deeds of discretion.
April 18, 2020
contest: Harrisham Rhyme
sponsor: Joseph May
For those who are not familiar with the book:
The Magnificent Obsession by Lloyd C. Douglas, is the story of Robert Merrick who is resuscitated by a rescue crew after a boating accident. The crew is unable to save the life of Dr. Hudson, a doctor renowned for his ability to help people, who was having a heart attack at the same time on the other side of the lake. Merrick then decides to devote his life to making up for the doctor's, and becomes a physician himself.
Douglas later wrote a book in response to the flood of letters he received from readers who wanted to know where they could find a book to which he referred - Dr. Hudson's Secret Journal. The Robert Merrick character decoded the journal, from which he learned the secret of his extraordinary success as a doctor. (According to the book, the secret was the literal practice of doing good deeds secretly, and thereby reaping spiritual power to use in becoming an excellent doctor.)
I wonder if my eyes have the strength to carry the dusk of my dearth.
They say eyes are the window to your soul.
But could the silhouette amplify the accosts of my void you claim with tangibility?
Could you name the poverty of my shadow within the dilation of my pupils, as they expand with a willingness unseen beneath anything but the weaves of your labyrinth?
Could you caress the convolutions of my heart, so twisted by the absent twinkle that determines the lifespan of my irises?
They speak a language so extraneous to the snarl of desperation; a hope clinging onto a surfeiting glut of insomnia.
They speak in syllables of a pitiful, pathetic articulation; a fleet of a cascading deluge.
They speak in a dialect so degrading to the ponder of my wondrous conclusions.
Not the ones you see in classrooms.
Not the ones you see in lectures.
But the ones you wish to lapse into; something as condescending as the melancholy of my amber.
And something as demoralising as the delinquency of my destiny;
The windows to my soul.
Beyond the Vast ocean's kingdom
lies a splendid land without boredom;
there this wandering boy discovered real joy,
stumbling on beauty that defined harmony!
Other kids spent their entire afternoons
at the soccer field, he climbed many hills,
and the wonders he saw enriched his intellect:
was he a prodigious child or a would-be poet?
There he avidly consumed his fancy-free days
watching the big-winged eagles in swift flight,
and the noisy airplanes soar above white clouds;
he followed them 'till they disappeared in distance!
Did he choose soothing solitude as a means of escape,
running to idyllic places to jot down unrhythmical words
on his pad from the reflection he made on the landscape?
His peers lacked the imagination to pursue poetic thoughts!
Distance is grief, while time transforms his wrinkled looks,
not the vigor of youth that prompted many humorous jokes;
even now he remembers well that beyond the vast kingdom:
he can retrace the footsteps of his puberty to regain freedom!
A Poem to love
To day I am placing here a great Hindi poem of a renowned poet
Translated by me as a poem which I hope would touch your mind
And heart intensely.
From the day I read this poem in between a play its wordings
Have touched me very deeply.
Since the poem is a beautiful piece of poetry by a great Indian
Hindi writer, poet, dramatist and story writer I am trying to
Bring its translation as much I could make from my mind without
Claiming that this is the best.
Brief background story for poetry soup lovers to judge the poem
In light in the light of its real beauty:
The heroine who was in the age of sweet sixteen was in love
With someone very intensely, but his actual lover ask her to
Show her love for someone else for obtaining a greater result
For the sake of his motherland and the heroine tries to love
Some one else, who asked a price for the same and gave only
Pains and agonies to her. But, when she sees her actual love
Her hearts is willing to welcome him and how- you will see
In this beautiful poem:
Translation of the poem of Jai Shanker Prasad a great Hindi poet.
Jaishankar Prasad (January 30, 1889 – January 14, 1937),
one of the most famous figures in modern Hindi literature
“Intoxicated by the wine of youth, in the age of sixteen
She cared only to love
And to whom she should give her heart,
She had no desire to know
And the one to whom she sold her precious heart,
Was asking a price for the same
The greedy even took away
The only treasure of pains and memories from her
She felt dusty storms were rising in her heart
And her love was coming totally unaware,
She thought to sprinkle water running from her eyes to
Make the path slippery
So that her love may walk slowly
And she may behold her love, a little more
The longing of her life may get fulfilled
And her hopes may get a base to stay a little more
She knew all the steams of the world would be running from her eyes
Making it more difficult to recognize her face
As the deep sea in her eyes would be splashing water on her face”
Only translation is made by me and the poem in Hindi belongs to
Late Jai Shanker Prasad.
Ravindra
Kanpur India 29th January 2010
I’ve gone through some boring times,
they’re inevitable in life,
luckily, I can truly say,
that I’ve never faced real strife.
In fact the only moment
I ever felt great despair,
was as a teen in high school,
when force to read Jane Eyre.
Good lord was the book boring,
so self-important and dull,
even worse with feminist teachers
pounding it into your skull.
I couldn’t even finish it,
and I very poorly fared,
an A-student who loved to write,
bored senseless by Jane Eyre.
The other boys did little better,
and it became a running joke,
how it could be used as torture,
more cruel than any blow.
Young men need something heroic,
where good guys go on a tear,
full of vigor, they’ll never stop
for the musings of Jane Eyre.
And now, all these years later,
it seems blocked from my brain,
wasn’t there a Lowburn school,
or something like that name?
I remember there was Rochester,
and his crazy wife upstairs,
but honestly that’s all I recall
of that blasted book Jane Eyre.
Some people proclaim it a classic,
and that folks like me are dolts,
but if that is what a classic is
then please leave me with my pulps!
Perhaps most of these classics
should go and grow a pair,
because I’ve never been more bored
then when I tried to read Jane Eyre.
…Of course, I’m an adult now. Maybe I’ll see something I didn’t before. I should try…zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz….