Long Mediterranean Poems
Long Mediterranean Poems. Below are the most popular long Mediterranean by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mediterranean poems by poem length and keyword.
The view from our cruise ship
Conjures far-flung images of amber hues
A fusion of illusion and reality
Where bending arc of the horizon
Greets the magnificent ocean.
The ocean flows, having done so
Billion years plus so many more
Churning, foaming, bouncing, dancing
From Atlantic to Pacific, Arctic to Antarctic
And every continent in between.
It goes to war flaunting armored ships
Designs exotic scenic beaches
Goes boating, surfing, fishing
Enjoys scuba diving in coral reefs.
As our dining room turns heads to peek
At the petite towns of the Mediterranean
Dressed in olive and orange trees
Moonlight's reflecting from the sea
Dancing to twinkling lights from the hills.
This beast and beauty held together by gravity
Harbinger of love, romance, happiness
Fills my gleeful heart with its own echo
I think I know why the ocean flows.
August 2, 2017
HM: Strand select V contest by Brian Strand
Paced 2nd: A Poem I wrote and Sent Drifting
Sponsor: Broken Wings
If the mediterranean waves
could carry me to your arms
I'd wake up to your whisper
enchanted by your charms
If the wafting wind
would breeze me to your bed
Our longing lips would kiss
in hungry emotions wed
If this love I feel
could linger in your heart
If we could live our dulcet dream
and never be apart
If I could be with you
and you could be with me
We'd watch the stars at night
sprinkling tranquility
twinkling in secret splendour
blissing our unknown destiny
If we could be together
till the day Forever
I'd hold on to your hand
be your sufficient other
a lover and bestfriend
I'd be your daily listener
your passion,your romance
I'd love you to infinity
and its universal end
If we could lay together
on gossamer vast sands
and threaded silken sheets
made by the mermaid's hands
We`d hear the sweetest sounds
of shells and corals play
I'd call out for your name
and hear you answer everyday
If I just turn around
to find those eyes along the way
If I could be with you
to live the promise of today
Tomorrow I'd still be there
a lavender in your grey
A revised old poem of mine
I lust to travel, the world, so grand
As I hold, this ball, in my hands
I slide my fingers along the lines
And dream of the place my index finds
I imagine, myself, near and far
The oceanic floor to the northern star
I enjoy my daily, equator stroll
And sliding from the north to South Pole
The black, red and Mediterranean Sea
North America, the land of the free
Anywhere outside or in between
You'll more than likely find me
On a plane, wrapped in clouds
To New York City with crowds and crowds
Icy North Pacific to west Palm Springs
From whales to shells, falls to Streams
A trip to London for a spot of tea
Then off to Madagascar's magnificent trees
An Asian vacation for authentic fried rice
Then across the rio grand for a little spice
At the end of the day, I embrace a hotel
An Irish castle or humble hay bale
It matters not, where I rest my head
The world's a book, it must be read
The shipping accident
It was late evening when the captain of a Russian owner cargo came down from the bridge where he and the first mate had mapped the route from Humberside to Amsterdam. North Sea is always a busy seaway
In his cabin, lit a cigarette, sat down and opened his personal computer to send an email to his wife; he had a two-month vacation coming soon and said he missed her and loved her, if she came to Amsterdam, they could travel to Swiss
Then, an almighty shudder, he was thrown off his chair, hastily got up, ran up to the bridge, to his horror, his vessel had collided with an American reg tank ship; both ships were on fire, but since it was a calm night, the crew survived.
Back ashore, he gave his version of the accident to the relevant authority, as he left the building, he was arrested for manslaughter by the police; he knew the Russians were hated in England except for the wealthy types
The unreasonable hatred goes back to the time of the Tzar when the Bolsheviks killed the Tzar clan his wife had been one of the Queen Victoria’s relatives; the old queen had relatives in most of European royal households.
Politics entered the fray; the captain of the Russian ship was thrown into jail to await a trial that was not properly investigated since the US ship had carried jet fuel for an American base in a mediterranean country
There was a rumor of sabotage since NATO provoked war in Ukraine, the notorious newspaper, the Guardian, which is known for its anti-Russian stance, didn’t hesitate to accuse Putin for bringing the war to British shores
Longfellow Deeds
From
Winchestertonfieldville
Iowa
Wrote throw away poems for Hallmark Cards
In search of laughs
But H.W. Longfellow
Spoke in linguistic Espagna
Of his body craving Sergovia
And of a soul forged in Madrid
Set to a soundtrack of Castanet
An inquisition of state
Lapping at the beating shores of the Mediterranean
Searching for a New World to Tame
Crossing the Shipping Lanes of Atlantis
The Heroin is met
In Studious perplex
As for neither had she met
But yet
She is at what is to explore
A Character
A Muse
A Classic piece of Art
In Words and Ink
Inspied by Julia Ward
Light Verse
H.W Longfellow Poetry Contest
Spanish Student
"There is a window open from my heart to yours." Rumi
See the splendor of pained poetic souls.
After he died, leapt out in the air above,
turned into a star in Gaza's bleak sky,
pouring words and tear.
How many heart cries. For what endless suffering,
soothed by his verse and rhyme.
The gallant Gazans follow it with reverence.
Although they weep for his loss, they dwell in his poems as a citadel,
a secured ark.
Did he predict today's indistinguishable relation
between occupation, displacement, and genocide?
All words coalesce, flow uncomfortably into the English lexicon.
Out of his grave, in Gaza City, the stone grove of his voice,
the vulgar odor of colonial infection withers by the spell of his love.
The tyranny of outrageous minds is set ablaze, when they hear him,
more joy than rage, soothing yet like a hurricane pounding the waves,
bridging the hearts.
He came to speak, to bridge the chasm between hearts, collapsed in shreds, secured in grace.
Poets are with art and nature crowned.
Reach Refaat a poet's crown.
Mark him the chronicle of this scene of horror,
author of resistance, pride, and honor.
Refaat wrote, "sometimes a homeland becomes a tale," a heroic tale,
and their savant poets too.
After he died, the sky of Gaza was littered with white kites speaking shinningly
to the deadly drones menacing above, like the buzzing of so many flies.
A parable of justice, a hope that never dies, under the golden dome of Mediterranean Sea saluting the eyes, eyes that see through the dark clouds, the brush of freighted air, the march of history toward a luminous point, into the clasp of a fresh new-born idea, nearer to binding faith than wild dismembering injustice,
Gaza uncaged, free from all deceits, where people mingle at seaside cafes with no fear of being bombed, reciting his poems, with bouquet of flowers on his grave with the note that reads, rest easy friend, Palestine will forever be free.
Perhaps like a lightning
bolt of clear out of the blue
rigor mortis (tenon and
three decades hence)
two thousand fifty nine if you
count from January 13th 2019, adieu
attest that day 9 months I did brew
in wound (of the late Harriet Harris),
now finds me loved ones
crying boo hoo,
after this stiff mortal
Earthling bid toodle loo
with symbolic casket
(carrying cremated urn of ashes)
remembrance attended
by gentile and Jew
sharing positive memories purportedly
about this nondescript
fellow they knew
mainly indirectly, poignantly,
and wickedly shot thru
with his insightful humorous scribblings,
plus magnus opus titled
"How do ye do,"
an informal rambling missive bereft
of any subject and
devoid with little clue,
the purpose of said hefty tome
out weighing The Federalist circa: knew
lee after American independence
Papers, written by true
purrs under the pseudonym "Publius"
but great (as a great doorstop), or
alight as tinder for barbeque
since many admirers never
read his text written in Hebrew,
fluency acquired spending
final years he grew
old, since automatic citizenship
granted based on genetic goo
plus Mediterranean climate helped promote
longevity to century his health did hew
thus naturally pronounced philosophy,
where he drew
quite a wide web asper the many
claims Matthew Scott did eschew
to maintain longevity (more
quackery than science), but who
could dispute glorious
principles, not to poo poo
analogous to placebo effect
harmless fervent coping methods,
whether to cure ague
interestingly enough he cited ack hue
puncture for a gamut of physical ills
as well he did advocate chew
wing food (after taking small bites)
until mouthful became pulpy slew
(proponent of Fletcherism), this to
exercise dentures in addition
to maximize stew
pen diss experience of simple
routine eating view
wing thoroughly good (by George)
said quotidian activity grew
tubby spiritual, similarly basic
functions in general did get skew
ward whereby meditation on intrinsic,
metabolic and scholastic
processes to name a few
added a dimension of enhancement prior to
exiting life into frontier mortals can only rue.
Roses are still red - and
True - pink and velvet silk of ivory
Rosa Glutinosa - the species of Mediterranean
Stunted by the growth, Native be Europe, Turkey and Iran
A shrub - at most three tiny feet high
Beauty it be of whites - 5 petals and true of thee
Gold- centered a bud - Her devoted majesty
For European culture - thee limbs hairy and of thorn
Fresh - be it- be - the leaves aroma of pine
Roses are - what to determine true love, and mine
Look thee - Rosa Glutinosa - the love doth flow
Like a daisy - with petals true and fact every time
He or she loves me , loves me not, loves me , loves me not
Matter of fact - gimme five , He or she ends always
With that - that is true - LOVES ME
Controlled by the daisy - by the European Rose!
And true to a point - picking the petals then see
Glutinosa - your true colors special to know of how rare
To know to start out with HE/SHE loves me not - HE/SHE loves me
Loves me not - loves me ends like this with
A fur of thick - thorn - and 3 foot slap
Right in the face - loves me not too for also and end
True how 5 petals waiting
Too the daisy , shall it known the rose is close
And each petal bore by the bud
Feelings are then beauteous - they flood
Determining love - I say it with prose
Loves me - pick the petal that beautiful rose!
In true love shall we pend in life . The point I get to say in my song Lyrics as a songwriter too! MY SONG Sir , Don't You Understand ? sung by singer Sharon Zee
can be heard on Hitsongradio.com under TOP100 Hits
The din of darkness,
The cacophony of impostors,
The symphony of ignorance,
The decadence of progress,
Colonial heritage,
The empire of the pharaohs,
The agony of the pyramids,
The ordeal of free men,
The heat of infernal furnaces,
The burden of ancestral tortures,
The cradle of humanities chained to hatred,
The lament of immemorial torments,
The tale of forgotten shadows,
The macabre mass of intertwined destinies,
The accelerated decrepitude of fallen hopes,
The stigmata engraved on the parchment of time,
The funeral howls of a persistent memory,
The sepulchral embrace of an eternal night,
The tumult of trials in the scars of history,
The flashes of an untamed reality,
The epic of souls thirsting for redemption.
Proselytes and orators with fiery ideologies are ready to spark a conflict whose repercussions could shake the very foundations of society.
Land of asylum, sanctuary of xenophobes,
Doors of the chapels of drug addiction,
The reconquest of frustrated nostalgics,
The liberation of supremacist rantings,
The silence of the proletarians,
The promotion of social inequalities,
If monotheism were of divine essence,
Racism, slavery and colonization
Were not going to be sanctified,
In their so-called holy rags.
The conspirators demonize the plots of the marginalized,
The manipulators have an army of fanatical parrots,
The future of the earth is punctuated by catastrophes,
These madmen are already exploring the stars,
There will never be peace on this cursed planet,
The rich need the chaos generated,
Through war, misery, corruption and plunder,
The tombstones pile up,
Taciturn spectators of human tragedy, erected in a landscape devastated by the ravages of ephemeral power and limitless greed.
Political extremists and religious fanatics
Preparing for the final confrontation,
Africa will be the next global battlefield,
Sub-Saharans think they are escaping the horrors of poverty,
By crossing the Sahara on foot and swimming the Mediterranean,
While the multinationals of the new world order take advantage to plunder the natural resources of their subsoil.
I feel the water
above me
below me
all around me
intimate
caressing
accepting
loving me
I go further down
to touch the bottom of the pool
and there
on the two painted dolphins
I push my hands down
and my feet break free from the water
shooting up into the air
my handstand
For a moment
I revel the erectness of my form
My legs above the water
the water trickling down them
slowly
I bring them back down
and burst out of the water
head and chest pushing out
Hair...laden with water
swung back
spraying a trajectory of liquid crystals behind me
I take in the air
I smile
I live
I breath
my arms move back and forth
I dip in again
then swim to the far side of the pool
I hold on to the metal hand guards
Put my legs out on the side of the pool
Knees bent
I push myself below the surface
looking around...
my playground
the water, my home
I'm in my element
I'm free
weightless and happy
the muffled sounds
and dancing lights on the surface
flirt with me
I stay for as long as I can
then I break the surface
Floating on my back
I look at the sky
I feel sublime
chest and tummy tasting the air
I'm there
There
where in my mind
I'm beautiful and divine
sultry mistress of the water
he's touching every part of me
I'm free
I'm free
Jade
I am never as happy as when I'm swimming....the pool lets me be more creative, but I also enjoy swimming in the Mediterranean sea. I've been called a dolphin.... I'm more like another aquatic mammal at present, but even those creatures are graceful and beautiful in the water. Summer is coming....