Long Meritorious Poems
Long Meritorious Poems. Below are the most popular long Meritorious by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Meritorious poems by poem length and keyword.
Deep ocean of azure blue
Overhead seagulls circling flew
In constant motion, heaving sides
The old merchant ship upon it rides
Rust scorched it's barnacled coat
Salt encrusted railings forever afloat
On the horizon's sinking sun's amber glow
Beckons enticingly along the flow
New moon appearing from out of the west
Silvery waves splintering against foamy crest
Figures emerging from the hold below
Peering skywards at the star studded show
Then into action to each their appointed task
Some heaving ropes, others mounting the mast
All working together to achieve one aim
To secure the sails aloft the bounteous main
A rumble of thunder and a flash lightening sound
Mountainous waves gather pace all around
Working in unison the crew now complete
All tasks meritorious as a well drilled fleet
A shout from the Captain, as the thunder roars
Urgently gesticulating "secure the oars"
Rain clashing as in sword play
Freeze drench they stand
As they see the top sail rend
Now all secured they disappear down
Below decks they ruminate
All worrying, no sound
Then vocal in assumptions from mate to mate
Until the Captain shouts "Silence no need for this din,
I shall calculate our bearings, now where to begin?"
Spreading out his charts he clears cups for a space
Each man concentrating, deep intent on each face
"Look Captain", one points "there's the Cape of Good Hope
enough time to manoeuvre and with luck stay afloat"
The temperature plummets and the crew mill around
No warmth except mittens and blankets draped around
The storm is abating and two bells is called
As each man takes turn to pump until hauled
Buckets of water overboard they keep on
Clearing sea water over gunnels, until all is gone
Ship breaking water all in it's wake
No matter the weather only headway to make
Dolphins leaping and diving below
Thoughts turn to seamen of long ago
Royal Navy Standards, a jolly jack tar
Plotting each course by the Northern Star
Pirate vessels hoisting their skull and crossbones
Biting winds moaning and pelting hailstones
Sailing ships with elaborate sails
Above the wind, sailors hearty hales
Anchorage sought and a comfortable berth
Homeward port reached and feet on the earth.
Conceited clericalism is encroaching scientific study and educational exploration, obdurate obscurantism engulfing people's normal mentality and judgment, ramrod racism routing ethnic equality and melting harmony~~~~~~
After 4 years of punk-sunk domestic complexion and skunk-drunk diplomatic stance under that frustrating and even facetious leadership, nothing meritorious had been left except for an unprecedentedly nationwide antagonistic atmosphere, an utterly disaffected alliance climate, a half-botched eyesore slouchy at the southern border flaunting its segregating strength on a derisorily slipshod base and a Covid death toll higher than that caused by world war 2.
Whatever disorder, discomfiture, disgrace and disruption he had brought, it was up to none other than the belated ballot to bring him down for want of any other alternatives effectual enough to invoke. It had certainly been shameful enough to etch the annals to have that pus-grubber holding a full 4-year term who had been out-and-out treasonable, unscrupulous, narcissistic and almost every moment fixated on a peculiar sense of holding court rather than holding duty. But even as he was about to step down perforce, the mind-boggling moxie of his moribund melodrama was still stepping up. Seeing an election result rolling out against him, he started to roar, roll and rattle all around together with his minions, inundating quite some states' litigation offices with dozens of sloppy suits only to be drained up by one identical whitewash from go to whoa in their totally failed attempts to turn the table. After the electoral college's confirmation in Dec.14, his nearest followers gradually got to rest disheartened, that doom-diver still remained restless in his mug's game, without the least care or concern over state affaires, day and night phoning and wiring to different executive departments, law enforcements and gubernatorial offices his pissing and moaning about so-called his opponent's cheating evidences and his stolen scores as if nothing but an immediate reversal of the result could meet the real justice. As the whole world stopped to watch how the dead cat bounce during his remnant continuance, a big deal did be bounced out.
Written: July 26, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
Quote: "Be still, for the silence of God is the language of the soul." by Rumi
***************
I find my refuge not in clamor,
but in the pabulum pause between storms,
a meritorious maelstrom subdued by resolve,
where each heartbeat tackles dyspnea —
the lungs, twin sanctuaries of ductile grace.
Not all peace is pristine.
It is the palimpsest of scars deep in the psyche,
an arthroscopy of loss and lull,
each echo adumbrated in incarnadine hues
and scantlings of self painstakingly reformed.
From the outside, I might seem a yokel
stumbling into wisdom by accident,
but I have seen through the gadzookery—
the flapdoodle on polished tongues,
the hackneyed hymns of haste.
My ischemic edema has vanished,
peace thrills me
keeping my zeal is my prayer with each breath,
awe-inspiring, breathing mutters,
"Inhale—exhale.
I avoid the ornate vessels stillness.
I acquire it from shattered glass gleam.
And what of the noise? The crowd
that claim triviality as a virtue—
those who build their temples
on paucity and preach ergophobia
as a warning, wisdom.
I glide past them with quiet steps.
Extemporize no sermon,
But still I speak in zeugma’s elegance:
I bear burdens and breath,
loss and light,
quiet and question.
In the apiary of mind,
I do not cage the bees—
I waltz alongside them.
Let misanthropy molt,
let tarantism yield,
let even xenoglossia be translated
into the soft syllables of inner peace.
I am not an iconoclast seeking acclaim—
I shatter only what steals my serenity.
Peace is not antediluvian,
nor an oxer too high to overcome.
It is ductile—malleable—
crafted from the scantling echoes of life.
This is not pabulum wisdom.
This is the sovereign self,
the mind unbound from its anxious crucible,
coruscating in its quiet rebellion—
agog not with frenzy,
but liberated in its freedom.
Written: July 30, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
************
The carnival dazzles—
mirific mosaics of midway magic
woven with whimsical calls from barkers
who strut boldly on boards
slick with popcorn oil and neon promises.
I, the aficionado of the absurd,
immerse myself in spectacle masquerading as
celebration,
a Falstaffian extravaganza,
a sockdolager of strobe-lit sensation,
where circus rages as horology gone amok—
clockwork chaos camouflaged as joy.
Here, even dyspnea dances:
lungs tight from laughter,
feet blistered on the boards
where the locals jive
to tunes sung in xenoglossia tones—
languages lost or learned
in the jamboree of jest.
We picnic beneath paper moons
and eat Easter-colored candy
as if Lent were long forgotten—
in this nefarious fair,
Time adumbrates indulgence.
I stumble past scantling booths
where prizes lean akin to broken teeth
and prayers cast unanswered
in the apiary buzz of sugar-rushed view.
One iconoclast offers nepenthe in a cup
with carbonation and broken fortunes—
And in that moment,
an epiphany unfolds as a palimpsest,
laughter scrawled over ancient pain,
glee grafted onto grief.
There is no paucity of pain here,
only its parody—
a meritorious mimicry
for those who can bear the weight
and yet select the lighter path.
A temporary guest of the night,
I own nothing,
but borrow every flicker of joy—
every flick of flame from the festival's fire,
every tune from the gala laughter.
Even illeism fades in festal light,
where I am not the observer,
but the observed,
not just the poet,
but the poem itself,
drawn toward this lodestone of longing.
And at last, beneath Ferris wheel stars,
I whisper into the abyss—
a cognate cry to the cosmos
_The feast is fleeting
but oh, how glorious
the festival finished?
little Rock
Doves at my feet
Imploring eyes watch
as I eat and I will share my
lunch with you not
shoo you away
like others do
for I recognize
your tam'ed nature
Am greatly pained by your
fallen stature Dovecotes kept since
Ancient times Now you're persecuted
for our crimes Considered dirty flying vermin
Might I suggest a different sermon Giving Praise
To Thee Dear Dove our oldest symbol of Peace and Love
in times of war you have served us well For our men you flew
and fell Honored couriers meritorious saving lives on wings glorious
not just for your flight to flourish But by your eggs and meat to
nourish Been kept for sport and even pet Pigeons are Doves we do
forget sporting the same flute like coo and
head bobbing meet-cute "How do you do?"
************************ One and The same as famed in fable ********
Ordained therein by King Eagle
"...your name shall be used, dear Dove
as long as the world shall last, for Love" Of
course of course we are all mortal yet you are
birds above and moral Models of monogamy and
doting parents Bonded family and lucky for us City
dwellers amid the chaos you little fellers happily our
Birds of Peace break bread with us on our streets
In The Name Of Dove!
Dear merciful and gracious God
The Supreme Father of wisdom
The One who provides knowledge and understanding
The guiding light of all creation
Leader, provider, and shepherd of our fathers
I call upon You today in a mighty way
Please shed Your love of intercession on our fathers
Guide their feet while they run this race
Strengthen their hearts as they walk Your way
Cleanse their thoughts as they strive to stay on Your path
Provide them with hope as they learn to pray
Sustain them with Your love from day to day
Touch their total being as the family’s foundation
Show them wisdom to provide wise counsel
Open their hearts to impart Your values and the Gospel
Walk with them and guide their feet around sinking sand
Listen to their pleas all across Your land
Mold them as You are the potter and they are the clay
Teach them how to kneel with children and pray
Talk with them as they would with their child and family
Impart divine wisdom, knowledge, and understanding upon them
Wrap them in Your mercy and surround them with Your glory
These blessings I ask as Your humble servant
In the name of Your begotten son Jesus
The Morning Star of all creation
Singing praises to His name
Henceforth until everlasting
Bless all fathers today and always,
Amen!
~~~~~~~~~~~***~~~~~~~~~~~
Author’s comments: I thank God for my father, Kenneth Spence, a great father. He was the
kind of person when the dinner table was set you don’t want to be late. His stories were
entertaining and victorious. His instructions were always helpful and meritorious and his
praises uplifting and glorious. May he rest in peace!
~~~~~~~~~~~***~~~~~~~~~~~
© Joseph S. Spence, Sr., (Epulaeryu Master) 6/20/2010
All Rights Reserved, Milwaukee, Wisconsin, USA
Senior Advisor, to Founder of Motivational Strips
Ambassador De Literature
Noble Star of Literature 2018
Living Legend of the 21st Century
Pentasiv B World Friendship Poetry Featured Poet 2019
** Rush Hudson Limbaugh III
January 12,1951 ~ February 17, 2021
Rush Limbaugh was an AMTALK Radio Pioneer and America's anchor.
A recipient of the "Medal of Freedom" and a patriot conservative mentor.
His God-given ability and insight soars to the creator.
He now rests in tranquillity on Heaven's great shore.
Written on 2/2/2022
**************************************************************
The list below are some of Rush's accomplishments
Information taken from Limbaugh Website : www.rushlimbaugh.com
The Presidential Medal of Freedom is awarded by the President of the United States "for especially meritorious contribution
Awarded the “William F. Buckley, Jr. Award for Media Excellence” by the Media Research Center (2007)
Received CPAC’s “Defender of the Constitution Award” (2009)
Named the Human Events Man of the Year (2007)
The Giving Back Fund’s 10 Most Generous Celebrities for contributions to charities and individuals, such as the Marine Corps – Law Enforcement Foundation
Awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom by President Donald Trump (2020)
Five-time winner of the National Association of Broadcasters Marconi Award for “Excellence in Syndicated and Network Broadcasting”
Children’s Choice Author of the Year, Rush Revere and the Brave Pilgrims (2014)
Author of #1 New York Times bestselling Adventures of Rush Revere Series, including Rush Revere and the Brave Pilgrims, The First Patriots, The American Revolution, The Star-Spangled Banner, and The Presidency
Inducted into the Radio Hall of Fame in Chicago in 1993
Inducted into the National Association of Broadcasters Hall of Fame in 1998
In the jungle of our collective heritage
In our wild teaming with endless species of flora and fauna
In the savannah, the tropics and the deserts of our kingdom
There is place for neither the honest nor the peace-loving
I am not adding to adages, I am talking reality
I am talking about the principle of virtue
And of the practicality of vice
I am talking about the cat family of our jungle life
That is celebrated for disrupting our conscientous existence
They are deemed meritorious because we are miserable
Because they are admired, our clamours go unheard
We are lowly, we are vulnerable, we are defenseless
We set our table with vegetation, but graze them with trembling
We respect their pathways but they don't respect ours
Under the lush delicacies of our livelihood, they ambush us
By the edge of our collectively-owned flows, they await us
They parade majestically and in showy antics, they stretch and growl
We see their prowess and bravery flaunted, and we cower into shades
They mock our meekness, even our gentleness, they deride
They mistake our peacefulness with cowardice
We are no cowards; we are only not favoured with their strength
We recognize our weakness the way they recognize their strength
And we bow loyally to their wishes and decline their contests
But our every decline provokes and challenges their ego
Our surrender and our protest are alike to them
Our existence is their headache, yet their means of livelihood we are
They will not stop until they have suppressed us into extinction
Unfortunately, when we are gone they shall be gone too
They shall comprehend the truth but very late
That though the cat rules, the jungle shall breathe without it
But without us, there is neither the jungle nor the cat
IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: LXXXIII
IF ever I had a country, a country where I were, by virtue of the highly
meritorious and exceptional services rendered to the State in conning and
duping the People, persuaded to assume the role
of Ministre d’Etat without Portfolio or duty
I would – I solemnly assure you, the Common Folk –first and foremost focus my very close attention on the questions of feminist practices discriminatory
And having noticed aghast with utter shame, disgust and fury that in some
countries women (sadly excluding trans-gender athletes) are treated with
utmost disregard, enmity and indignity
As for example, they being downgraded to the abysmal level of having to play
Soft-Ball (what’s that? “Round-us”?) while men knock-about with hard
base-minded balls of virility
I’ll invite the Minister of Sports to my official well-leathered and cushy
chambers to see how I esteem my Personal Secretary by letting her turn up for work in her swim-suit with her pet monkey on her knee
And I’ll warn him, nay, threaten him with my wagging fore-finger, on how I’ll
under-cut his Olympic Budget in half if he didn’t thenceforth authorize
soft-ball gals to cavort on the pitch with just the women’s Beach Volley Ball suit – with no “strings” attached – for all, including frustrated
cameramen looking vainly for the “opening” shot…. for all to see
And this, even if I were doomed to be strung up on the White House Christmas Tree
So be it, even if I never ever had no country nor squash racquet to bash balls soft or hard care-free
(c) T. Wignesan, Paris, August 12, 2021
I am bored with Poetrysoup
Premier Poetry website rekindled my poetic talent
Veterans loved my work and inspired to showcase talent
But soon got entangled in Members Contest
Contests more of mutual admiration club than talent hunt
One Premium Member placing other high on winners list
Ordinary Members often accomodated below Glory list
Poetrysoup Members Contest rules needs revision
Premium Membership based on fees not on merits and contribution
Novice at times get chance to judge veteran
And post three poems in Poetrysoup Contest tilting fair play condition
Rules need revision, Premium Membership should be criteria driven
Either based on 25 Top Ten wins or upon posting of 150 poems
Top 50 of Poetrysoup Contest should conduct contests and groom
Though bored yet good platform of poetic expression is Poetrysoup
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
By Hitendra Mehta
April 2011
Placed 7th in Members Contest - I am bored with______ by Linda Marie
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
P.S - Its not intended to offend the Premium Members. Few of them have
really supported me and loved my visuals and flow. The idea is to make
this platform more stronger and meritorious to groom real talent.
Winning Top Ten and accumulating marks is okay but ultimate gratification
lies in showcasing the visuals with seamless flow of theme and packaging
same in adorable poetic forms.
Ventured this caustic one hoping that it will bring about positive changes.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~