Long Memorise Poems
Long Memorise Poems. Below are the most popular long Memorise by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Memorise poems by poem length and keyword.
Lovers choose red roses
To express their undying love,
For their beloved
Who shines like an angel from heaven above.
Life is a Paradise; when we are young,
Life is like an epic film,
That has just begun
It has lots of pages
Not yet known to you,
Will you and your sweetheart
Stay together,
And be forever true?
Like the magnificence of the rose
Will your love fade over time
Or will you always,
Keep your first love in mind.
Memories come flooding back,
Sometimes when your alone
Has your love ever married,
Or is she all alone?
Does she ever think fo you?
And memorise the same,
Or does the perfume, like the rose,
With memories remain?
If only I had known I’d never hear your voice again
Or hear you whisper sweetly in my ear
I'd memorise each word of love you ever said to me
So when I'm all alone, your voice I’ll hear
If only I had known it was the last time I would see
The man I love with all my heart and soul
I would have held on tighter and kept you close to me
And never would have ever let you go
If only I had known it was my last night in your arms
That I would never wake with you again
I’d pray for God to hide the sun and let you stay with me
And pray for night time always to remain
If only I had known you would be taken from my life
Be left with only memories and tears
I’d cherish every second, every minute spent with you
To keep them in my heart through all the years
If only I had known that you were leaving me behind
So many things I never got to say
To tell you what it meant for me to have you in my life
Steal one more kiss before you went away
You were my love my heart my soul, the reason that I breathe
And now you are my Angel up above
Please listen baby, hear me when I say a prayer for you
The only man I know I’ll ever love..
The tongue does many a twist upon us
effecting our outlook to be so untrue
it grabs our minds taking our attention
leading to fill us so we turn blue
Learn to cultivate a tongue of calm
perfecting peace and quiet in your heart
this does truly produce a tree of life
a life of real calmness in no small part
But beware of speech that's twisted
for it'll ruin you to your utter despair
every word conveyed loses all goodness
and grips you that you feel completely bare
Be sure to keep your tongue peaceful
giving it no anxious or evil thought
allow peace to come down from above
calming each nerve forever how fraught
Learn to memorise this blessed verse
a calm tongue and twisted speech
so you have it always in mind
this your remedy for life, so do teach
("A calm tongue* is a tree of life,
But twisted speech causes despair.* Prov. 15:4.)
Tomes of scriptures, too much to know,
Too little time, woes, strife on toe,
Track what lies at the core,
Of crux, crucial from lore,
Swans do as from water milk draw.
______________________
Translation |16.10.2024| scriptures, knowledge, time, woes, essence, milk, water
Poet’s note: Sanskrit has thousands of verses of wisdom called Subhashhitam. Even in ancient time in India it was felt that there was too much to know, too much to read/memorise, time is just not enough, and many a snag in the way. What should then be done? Focus on what is of essence, just as a swan separates milk from water (this is a poetic imagination/metaphor). The transliteration of the Sanskrit verse follows:
Aneka shaastram, bahu veditavyam,
alpah cha kaalah, bahavah cha vighnaah |
Yat saara-bhootam tat upaasitavyam,
hamsah yathaa kshheeram iva ambu madhyaat ||
So: thinker, “personality” and actor
are looking for a drink.
If two of them are trailers, one’s a tractor.
“Nice counter-top. Real zinc?”
“Don’t ask them stuff. They memorise words
of better men, to spout ’em!”
“And his type feels the need to gather herds
of sycophants about ’em.”
“There’s zinc in every human enzyme. Fact.”
“An enzyme? Qu’est-ce que c’est?”
“A catalyst which helps your gut react
a thousand times a day.”
Creators are the only ones who matter,
just them and only them.
Who grows, can know: who knows can grow (and scatter):
the human apothegm.
“The path from easy living? Slow decline
to reach death valley days.”
“Misfortunes? They’re all relative, and mine
are slight. I’m not from Grays!”
Who hasn’t done his share of Boogie Nights?
All wassail hours are zeros.
Two-thirds of humankind are parasites:
where should we look for heroes?
We have a thing now, called celebrity
that’s not the same as fame:
whatever ape forsakes the tree
can make himself a name.
The world, for entertainment, craves a schism
(Max Baer against Joe Louis):
but who foresaw the Queen of Capitalism
would be a Russian Jewess?
Lungs like burnt paper—
folded too many times
by hands that forgot
how to be gentle.
Morning comes with wires.
He wears machines like
second lungs,
ghosts that sleep beside him
and hum.
Each breath is an audition.
He performs survival
on a stage made of ribs—
a collapsed theatre
with no curtain call.
They say he's brave.
He knows better.
Even the dying
don’t always want
to be remembered
as metaphors.
He coughs,
and something inside him
shakes loose—
a childhood, maybe.
A sandcastle
he never got to finish.
His chest heaves like storm clouds,
tight and swollen—
each gasp a fight
against chains
no one can see.
His sputum tastes like rust—
iron and despair,
bitter enough to sting
the back of his throat
every single day.
Medicine bottles line the shelf—
bitter pills, salty sprays,
a pharmacy of survival
he carries in his pockets
like unwanted secrets.
His laughter?
A spark
in a flooded cathedral.
It echoes—
defiant,
half-holy.
Doctors take notes
as if writing him
into science.
But he is not data.
He is weather—
unpredictable,
brewing.
Some nights,
he feels like a galaxy
trying to fit
inside a bottle.
Other nights,
just the bottle.
He loves anyway—
recklessly,
with lungs that bruise
like fruit,
with eyes that memorise
goodbyes
before anyone says them.
When sleep comes,
it doesn’t knock.
It slides in
through the window,
soft as fog
and just as indifferent.
Still,
he breathes.
Maybe not well.
But beautifully.
Like a hymn
the sky forgot
it needed.
In loving memory of my dear friend, Nathan Davis,
a brave soul who faced cystic fibrosis
with courage beyond his years.
Gone too soon at 22,
but never forgotten.
Lingering will it be in our memories
As we memorise the memorable
Memoir of the memorial
Of Dele Giwa
A letter engraved in a Bomb
Plucked away our prolific
And dogged pen pusher
Dele, A News Watcher
Became a news
Watched under the watchful
Eagle eyes of millions of watchers
On a day better not to remembered
Sunday 19th October, 1986
Came the news of Bomb bombardment
We all woke up to the verity of a
News very sad to watch
But watched with pains and agony
There the Bomb boomed
With a letter speaking only doom
Dele, Life was abruptly seized from you
By the BBI of this world
Your dream was caught short
Orchestrated by the goons of the
Jackbooters in power who still
Want to return to power by means all
Dele, They threw spanners in your path
With the quest to kill the
Message and the messenger
But Dele,19 years after
The message lives
It leaves them
Only to live on them
For your message lived on truth
It feeds only on Justice
Adieu Dele!!!
Your blood shed will continue
To sprinkle trauma and agony
On all your killers
As we promise to continue
To truthfully push the pen like you did
Till the ink finishes
And till we can push no more.
Alayande Stephen Tolulope
October 1st 2005
9.00pm
Form:
I want be known
not by a thousand but by one
I to be bone deep recognised in spirit and flesh
I want you to care enough about the details
To memorise these shades of shadows
swirling in my soul
and not run
petrified of my darkness and repulsed by my inadequacy
I want you to love my imperfection
I want to be desired
as in oxygen has been replaced
with burning for my taste
I dream of this love
colored and contoured by novels
but I wonder
if it is not a fantasy lying
is it real?
For now it is the sniper
taking down the flesh before me
with its desperate demands
Each day brings new moments
every moment can feel the same
as weeks and months fly past
am I the one to blame?
Why is the norm so plain?
being uneventful so mundane
break away to something else
remove from within this dark stain
To be alone need not be
for peace is your companion true
walking among God's created earth
enjoy these moments so new
Listen to music of such beauty
orchestrated together making one calm
read many poetically crafted gems
giving you such a contended balm
These moments are to savour
life's silent spots so rare
memorise them in your thought bank
giving God thanks for His care
I think it could be me.? At least currently.' The sights i wish i did not have witness of
Encompass, our ocean of temp-orality
Stupid-ocracy being a prequisite, to thriving.? No surviving the relentless tides.' I feel safe
Yet rather distant, upon this Rock! That
resists a rootless mad ride..It surpresses any objectivness..And offers many ( easy paths?) The clowns have folded the circuses, and somehow? have half the world an indesisive grasp.' They have a garish attitude.' That puts their dress in the shade
Yet many observe that style of garb and flaunt it 'just the same' they have a thing with letters.' They advise a lot, is good it does not make a word to use.' Yet some advise to memorise
And follow it you should.' Ideally while most irate.'If
put upon a signpost? to my idea, you
might never leave the spot.' To the direction it is pointing.' Is.?? A challenge in
Orinteering, to say the least. A lot, and there is it
Seems? A pre-occupation with two letters
A p and a q.' There seems a type of worship ? Of them l ' i don't know how it reads to you? Could be; its their closeness in the alph-beata-zone..Which i still term an alphabet that seems to inhabit? Now a space unknown.? Maybe some aliens will clear things up.? And bring sanity to all nations.? I fear this place though might melt their minds? Then charge for that de-sensitization..
There are volcanies ready ti blow..War and rumours of, war much knowledge many run to and fro,
Despots hold forth, and people listen? Gold
Is sold that has no glisten.' Dear Lord i
See the only way..So direct and accessible
I advise a right turn at His cross ' but hey.'