Long Loud Poems
Long Loud Poems. Below are the most popular long Loud by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Loud poems by poem length and keyword.
"I am the absolute First and the absolute Last
I am the esteemed and scorned
I am the shameless woman and the holy elect
I am the wife and virgin
I am the unseen mum and ever-present daughter
I am my mother’s members
I am a midwife and do not give birth to any
and my lover brought me forth
I am the holy solace of my pains of labour
I am the bride and the groom
I am the virgin mother of my mighty father
I am my husband’s sister
and he is my first begotten offspring and my king
I am a queen of my seed
I am a lowly slave of the one who prepared me
I am the staff of his might
and he the olive tree rod of my quite advanced age
I am a silence unknown
I am an eternal idea remembered much
I am the sound of my name
I am the soft and sweet voice whose sound is manifold
I am the word whose fine appearance is multiple"
“I am the bright Alpha and the Omega
I am the very First and Last
I am the Beginning and the very end
I am with your soul forever
I am the father, I am the kind mother
I am the ever-present child
I am the incorruptible and the pure
I am the beloved of life
I am the first offspring who was begotten
I am the righteous one of life
I am the son of the infinite Father
I speak even as I have heard
I command as I received the loud order
I will now show you even as I have found”
"I am the sun of knowledge and mist of ignorance
I am shame and fearlessness
I am the forever shameless and the one ashamed
I am strength and fear themselves
I am bloody war and ever-fleeting peace of all
I am the disgraced and the grand being of the all"
"I am the remembrance of the Pleroma
I am the great abundance of light
They who follow me will not walk in darkness
They will have the life’s light, for I’m the world’s light"
"I am a woman existing in every known fear
I am the mindless and wise
I am in my might whenever I fall and plummet
I am carefree in a pleasant garden filled with plants"
“I am the door you now see
If anyone goes through me, they will be saved
And will go in and out and find the garden"
The quiet sunlight
doesn’t announce its arrival—
it simply leans
against the wall of morning,
filling the cracks
no one else noticed.
It does not chase shadows,
just softens them.
No battle,
no brightness loud enough to burn.
It touches the windowpane
like a memory
you didn’t know you were still holding.
Warm,
but not urgent.
Present,
but never demanding.
It drapes itself across
the cluttered desk,
the wilted houseplant,
the spine of a book
you once meant to finish.
And in that golden hush,
you remember—
how healing often arrives
without a sound.
How love
can simply be
the light that stays.
Folk say I'm simple, it's a fallacy
I am comprehensive, absolutely
Here I stand before you, to tell the truth
I'm simply enjoying days of my youth.
Schooling excites me, there's so much to learn
Adventures in the future, them I yearn
Till then I absorb everything I'm taught
And enjoy the variety of sports.
We are a family of five in all
One son and two daughters, having a ball
I look out for my siblings, see them safe
Kept from all harm, with protection in place.
My aim is to make my Mar and Par proud
My love for them I avow and shout loud
I am honoured to belong in their nest
They're simply the sweetest, fabulous best.
Work witty way
Dress dazzling day
Wonder words well
Spice sparking spell
Seek sensuous spread
Dust dreary dread
Aid ample art
Set sizzling start
Meek moments meet
Sense surprise sweet
Prize profound peace
End endows ease
Play puzzles plot
Treat timely thought
Words welcome wit
Hurl happy hits
Verse vibrant voice
Charm clever choice
Works weather well
Time truly tells
Love lavish loud
Please profound proud
Chance creamy cheer
Dance dreamy dear
Spread succinct spice
Now nurture nice
Leon Enriquez
08 May 2018
Hamlet Place, ACT
There was a field behind our grandparents' house in the province.
A wide one, green and glimmering, where the rice stalks swayed and the dragonflies danced.
Back then, we were just kids—barefoot, loud, and always in trouble for staying out too long.
My cousins and I would chase dragonflies until our legs were scratched from the grass.
We’d run along the muddy dikes,
pretend we were explorers or heroes or just anything we wanted to be.
Our grandparents were always waiting.
Our grandma would cook lunch and wake us up in the mornings with the smell of garlic rice.
Our grandpa would sit by the window, pretending not to smile when we ran past.
The whole neighborhood was filled with voices—
kids shouting from nearby houses,
aunts gossiping by the water pump,
grandparents calling us in before the sun disappeared.
But everything is quieter now.
We’re older, scattered in cities with work to do and alarms instead of birds.
No more cousins running around barefoot.
No more children laughing in the fields.
The trees still stand, but no one climbs them anymore.
The dragonflies are gone.
Still, when I come back and walk through that old field,
I see us.
Running, chasing, shouting, laughing.
Worrying only about how to sneak out again after lunch,
and what game we’d play next.
And sometimes I wonder—
maybe if we had just let the dragonflies fly freely,
just watched them instead of trying to catch them,
they might still be here.
Maybe they’d still come back,
like we did.
With the advent of the pale silhouette of the dusk, the birds return to their nests. During that time, the world is filled with a strangely beautiful light. And that enchanting , yet melancholic light touches everything with utmost care. Looking at your face, it seems like a beauty wrapped in the mystery of eternity, that beauty unknowingly arouses pain. The innocent helpless face of a sleeping child seems to be the most adored asset in this corporeal world. That incomparable light creates a kind of illusion with beauty, the ordinary also becomes extraordinary in the hue of that strange light.
There is a huge noise in rituals to show gratitude in thankfulness.
This loud noise almost silences the intention to acknowledge the gratitude for the divine supremacy.
The dawn time is a little bit different. Each Morning is blessed with an expected possibility. Every morning it seems like an unspeakable immeasurable possibility in the midst of the darkness without light. At that time in the mixture of light and darkness in the morning, I wanted to express to the Lord of the world the expectation of a better world. A world full of His mercy, as we all are surrounded by His mercy, knowingly or unknowingly. Yet, time always goes by with indifference, how much more time are there, no one really knows!
So which of the Lord’s blessings would you deny?
There are a few people who motivate me
When I walk in the gym to workout I see
Balances of challenges a sea of humanity
Some with limbs that don’t move normally
The woman in wheel chair with a green smile
She’s moving and meeting her own goals now
The man using his walker has courage so loud
That inspires the lot of us even the small child
In the pool they are free to move
Silly me too embarrassed to try to
I can’t swim and once had lessons too
I’m watching them as I do what I do
You may not know who you indigo inspire
Just by being who you are you lift higher
Yourself and others despite dilemma's red fire
You are an earthly star press on towards desire
It was a dawn amongst amazing dawns
With a clear and sparkling blinding light
Starting a day of most amazing prospects
When everything seemed to be just right
The clock struck a definitive thirteen
I counted each measured chime
Blinked in surprise at their number
Very nearly missed that split in time
When all those things possible
Became as a matter of fact
All those things probable
As the split began to act
So the old wall cuckoo clock
I always regarded as sedate
Danced with the steaming kettle
As though in prearranged date
The freezer in the kitchen corner
Rattled out a mean drum roll
And the cooker and the washer
Duetted in a session of soul
The birds were flying backwards
As I could oh so plainly see
Through the transparent kitchen wall
That stood there in front of me
There were Dragons blazing trails
Across a gleaming silver sky
One certainly gave a wink to me
As she looped and rolled in her flyby
There were comets dancing madrigals
With a bland but beaming yellow sun
And it seemed a creation of creations
Had started on its alternative run
Then the clock struck again
Just to twelve and with a loud crack
Time remerged with time with time
And the old world came flooding back
And what had started out to be
A very special and promising day
Reverted backed to its norm
And that world seemed somewhat grey
Consider the (Dreaming) Birds
By Mark D. Stucky
Jesus told us to consider the birds of the air.
I have pondered parakeets (budgies) in a cage
routinely performing what seems impossible.
No, not flying. (They fly rather poorly.)
It’s the posture they keep as they sleep.
Usually before closing their eyes,
they puff out their colorful feathers,
precariously balance on just one slender leg,
twist their heads halfway around,
and nestle their beaks under the backs of their wings.
How can they do that? Why would they want to?
No human could hold such an improbable pose,
not even in yoga, let alone while dreaming.
I’ve puzzled over those tiny amazing acts
that birds do daily with little thought
and no explanation of their motives to me.
Although I can’t replicate their strange stance,
to those tiny birds, I am godlike.
They periodically chirp loud petitionary prayers
for me to give them this day their daily birdseed.
But omnipotent and omniscient I’m clearly not.
Those winged unlikely wonders mystify me.
Perhaps if I could enter their caged existence
and take on the feathered form of a fellow bird,
they would softly warble their secrets to me,
and I to them.
I treasure miniature miracles in implausible places.
And if a fluff of feathers can perform such wonders,
surely the God of the universe
can go bigger and better,
can fling a star-like light across Bethlehem’s sky,
can create conception in a virgin by divine in vitro,
can take on flesh in our own featherless form,
and can croon to us heavenly dreams.
(First published in Small Town Anthology VI: Entries from the Sixth Annual Tournament of Writers, Vicksburg Cultural Arts Center, 2020, pp. 38-39. See also my poems “Quantum Theology” and “Journey of a Contemporary Joseph.”)
(Photo by garten-gg on Pixabay.)
Quote: "The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams.
By -Eleanor Roosevelt"
________________________________
I am enraged when coffee makers explode.
The dog barking at neighbor's door irritates me.
Also the vivid couple in bed with loud stomping.
I am irked by those who squawk as such beings.
Pride is typically a fine stone that will endure.
But some find it a tough rock to tumble over.
My reward came from a wealthy aunt's death.
Things rise, and then further challenges emerge.
Moving from a one-bedroom flat to a house.
The bounty of delight has fueled me to excess.