Long Meter Poems
Long Meter Poems. Below are the most popular long Meter by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Meter poems by poem length and keyword.
I write not as a dreamer alone—
but as one who has peered
through the quiet galaxies
of the cell.
There—
where ribosomes turn
like patient mills,
and strands of code
coil and uncoil
with ancient precision—
we have begun
to send our smallest messengers.
Not soldiers of iron,
not crude intrusions,
but particles
measured in billionths of a meter—
engineered whispers
moving through the blood’s red rivers.
They arrive
knowing your language.
Programmed
to the grammar of your genes,
to the private dialect
of your cells—
a medicine written
for one body alone.
They do not wander.
They listen.
They find the misfolded protein,
the silent tumor beginning its theft,
the artery narrowing
like a road forgotten by the sun.
Then—
with mathematics gentler than surgery—
they repair,
unbind,
dissolve the error.
And when the work is finished,
they sleep.
Their code instructs silence—
no empire,
no conquest,
no lingering hand.
Only a correction
in the long manuscript
of the body.
Imagine it—
a future where illness
is met not with blunt storms of chemicals
but with quiet librarians
walking the corridors of flesh,
returning misplaced pages
to their rightful place.
This is the promise
hidden in the smallest scale:
that healing
may one day arrive
not with thunder—
but with a whisper
too small to see,
yet wise enough
to leave the body
whole.
God’s Holy Whisper of Love
I long to hear now God’s holy whisper of love,
For its sacrosanct sound abounds most high above.
This subtle soft tone mirrors forever God’s grace;
It maketh our souls one in His heavenly place.
God’s whisper reflects his love and passion in kind;
It’s His wish for poets to set them in true rhyme.
God’s whisper is our music on this mortal Earth;
It sustains our love spirit for holy rebirth.
Warm tears symbolize always our human passion,
As we seeketh God’s plan for His divine action.
God’s whisper sustains us true in all times of need;
He teaches that love conquers all, and we must heed.
God’s love shall be with us until the end of time;
He knoweth that poets shall set His words to rhyme!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
July 15, 2016 (Canzone)
Author’s Notes:
One Stanza
14 Verses
Meter: Iambic Hexameter
Total Syllables: 168
Rhyme Scheme: aabbccddeeffcc
That Old Willow Tree
A place of solitude
Down by the swamp
A willow tree grows among the weeds
Branches reach to the sky
Fronds hang down reaching for the earth below
Birds live and sing in her branches
Shade loving plants grow at her feet
It is so pleasant on a hot August afternoon
The perfect place to just sit and think
Maybe paint a beautiful landscape
Or even an inspired poem
Such a place exists only for the artist
There aren’t many in our hectic world
They have been paved over
Polluted so that the beauty is long gone
Or just lost to everlasting progress
If you find a place like that old willow tree
Love it and go there for moments of solitude
Think about what nature has given you for that day
Because tomorrow it may be gone
And you may sit at the foot of a parking meter
But it will never be the same
Written: August 26, 2023
Pour Your Heart Out Sponsored by: Matt Caliri
______________________________________________________________
In a world without walls, emotions run wild.
His creativity soars, such a curious child.
Unbound by meter or syllable count,
Words dance freely, without a surmount.
Embracing nakedness in its purest form
Expression flows, unafraid of the norm.
Yanked naked, in virginity embrace,
The binding belt of chastity finds no place.
In meadows, we sleep quiet and serene.
A pristine haven, free of squatter scenes.
No fighting for rights, with sonnet-crafted homes,
Just literature's embrace, where beauty roams.
Straying from the norm, acolytes observe,
As castles are built, the passion they preserve
Orderly expression, poetic masterpieces unfold,
Safeguarded and treasured, stories untold
Metaphors align, in a specific subset,
Pictures become art—a realm you won't forget.
For those unfit to fly in their confines,
Outside the norm, a vast nebula shines.
A growing quill, flowers from seeds sown,
A power of smell, memories to be known.
The brain may elect to ignore the scent.
But settling into a form is what words must represent.
On this journey, there are no rules to be bound,
Just a burning desire to bear words resound.
Strive to harass the page, ignite the fire within,
Tell someone a mystery; let rebirth begin.
Unbound in verse, we embark on a journey,
Beyond confinement, we find sanctuary.
No wall can bridle our emotions.
Our creativity soars with endless notions.
Ventilated, our thoughts freely flow.
Unbound by limits, we let our words grow.
In this realm, there are no restrictions.
Only the freedom to explore our convictions.
With every word, we break free from the chains.
Unleashing our souls, embracing no restraints.
The power of language, a force so profound,
Guiding us on a path where true beauty is found.
God’s Christmas Angel
God’s Christmas Angel is full of His love;
A Guardian to those lost to His light.
Restore them to God’s path of divine right,
This Angel’s charge be with His grace above!
This Angel’s mission is replete with love,
And one prized in God’s holy presence bright;
One passion perfect in His holy light;
And one blessed by heavenly Saints above!
This Angel cloaks those lost in love replete;
With true passion and holy spirit now,
To fulfill God’s wish—His eternal vow!
Love’s this Guardian’s power complete;
Her spirit to redeem those lost on Earth,
Bringing them God’s love and divine rebirth!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
December 2, 2015 (Petrarchan Sonnet)
Author’s Notes:
Meter: Iambic Pentameter
Octave: abbaabba | Sestet: cddcee
ACT ONE
Send flowers to someone anonymously
In the phone book just pick out a name
This simple gesture will bring on a smile
They'll never catch on to your game
ACT TWO
Leave a short note praising someone
It could be one of your friends
Watch as they find your very kind words
They'll look puzzled then smile in the end
ACT THREE
You spy a parking meter where time's run out
Some coins from your pocket you place
When the owner returns expecting a ticket
You will love the smile on their face
ACT FOUR
You're in a restaurant enjoying a meal
Your waitress hasn't been too sweet
Whatever the reason it just doesn't matter
A big tip, her frown you'll defeat
The loads of joy you get from these things
Are simply just good for the soul
Random acts of kindness my friends
Should always be your goal!
© Jack Ellison 2013
CHASING FOOTPRINTS
Some feet are bigger than others
none bigger than those
left by your brothers -
that you tried to fill.
The foot that Dad
would put “right up ‘ur ****”
and the one Mom said
you must put forward.
The meter and feet
we poetically treat
in attempt to conform
to rhythm and beat.
One foot we must
“take out of our mouth”,
while trying to get
“one foot in the door”.
Footprints that litter
the sands of our mind
that cannot be followed
by looking behind.
The foot of the stairs
the foot of the bed
the footsteps of night
the footsteps of dread.
Huge footprints of carbon
Al Gore and his ilk
charging the cows
for the grass to make milk.
One foot on the gas
One foot on the brake
one looking to give
one looking to take.
So don’t judge the size
or the depth of the root
nor measure the soul
by the size of the boot.
John G. Lawless
submitted to – BIGFOOT (A Poet Destroyer contest)
Diamonds
We all have so many diamonds that we own,
but we think of them as glass or bits of stone.
We often sell them as cheap pieces of junk,
but yet always we think of them as unknown.
The diamonds are the youth, your health, and no pain.
Making love with your love, not much to complain.
A thousand laughs, a thousand ways to enjoy,
Getting old is the pain, no need to explain.
My days are darken since my love, she is gone.
The nightingales are calling me to hold on.
The light is leaving me keeping me in dark.
How much darkness there is, I’ll die before dawn.
What if life is a bowl, in there, full of pain?
The pain is there to drive you and me insane.
Remember when we were young bursting with life?
My face is wet, is it from tears or from rain?
There are only a few days that you are young,
on those days you believe that life is unsung.
To be young is a dream no youth ever knows.
No one is here to hear me what I have sung.
If you are golden and like gold full of lust,
Or maybe like the kings, you live and you must,
You may have all the things all big and all small,
At the end of the road, you will become dust.
8/2019 Haloo
Note: This poem is in the form of "Rubaiyat", it is the plural form of Rubai. Rubai is a quatrain with the rhyming of AABA. Each Rubai is a book by itself, it starts and ends within the quatrain, but when it's in a form of Rubaiyat, it follows the single theme with the same meter throughout. Poetrysoup has a good explanation of this format.
The painting is called " a reminder". It is acrylic on plywood.
With lamps, fiery skies,
Pearls and spires all so many,
Sans thy light of eyes
O thou doe-eyed young beauty,
This world’s gloomy night to me.
_______________________
Translation (Tanka) | 29.08.2025 | beauty, dark, world
Note: Here is a verse (in Anushtubh meter) from Bhartrihari’s Shringaara Shatakam (hundred verses on love and romance). Here the poet imagines world without his doe-eyed beauty-- dark even with sun, moon, and brilliant jewels. Here is the transliteration of the original Sanskrit:
Sati pradeepe sati agnau,
Satsu naana manishu api |
Vinaa me mrga-shaava-akshyaa,
Tamah bhootam idam jagat || 16 ||
Poetic forms are special tools for me;
the metric patterns mold words into shape.
Like guarded gates, they hold the imagery
and keep it safe so it will not escape.
Strong rhyme and meter shape my poetry.
Without confinement, words fly off the page.
Iambic forms and quatrains challenge me
to make a poem sing within its cage.
My poems come from music in my soul.
Ideas emerge to capture in some form,
composing imagery with word control;
like a musician's notes, they must conform.
As music has a beat and songs have rhyme,
and sculptures do present concentric flows.
Most paintings show the balance of design;
so poetry- with sister arts- bestows.
May 25, 2017