Long Metres Poems
Long Metres Poems. Below are the most popular long Metres by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Metres poems by poem length and keyword.
I lie and think..? And think then dream..On how it will end?
What will be the scenes? The die is cast..' So many now
Know.! Many more will soon, and that will show.' Will they
Lose some more.? Do they know they can stand? and truly defeat
This evil plan? Lets assume they will, arise as one' and
Start at home, were they are well known.' I guess? they'll
Root out the 'low life agents local ' starting at town and
Shire, and gettiing real vocal.' I can imagine up in Yass i
Bet those hills will ring' People greeting freedom what a
Wonderous thing' along the Bidgie out Balranald way
Where the river winds through endless days..The tracks
Are rutted the earths kinda softer, it would suit a dragging
I know its not a hanging.' But murder i'm not for' yet two
Stock horses and a brand new rope.' Tied round the ankles
Well it wouldent be a joke.' I guess albo should survive
A good thirty yards? or twenty five metres, you see i'm not
That hard.' Then off to the smokey a two hundred stretch
LOL)) just a little humor, yet i'd save their necks! And their
Time won't be wasted..Not while they reside, at the peoples
Pleasure..I'll let you decide.' now experimental medicines
Seem their thing.' So as soon as they get made they can
Take them in, they'll be doing their bit and can even report
Right on t v, to the nation what do ya think old sports? And
They can also have our old tramping staple, salvital and
Meths..To keep their health well.? kinda stable.'
Hannah Crockroft has cerebral palsy from her birth,
And having CP myself, she’s kind of special to me,
Because CP is not derided anymore, much, as alien,
But is called brain damage, not your own currency.
She was born on the 30th July 1992, West Yorkshire,
In Halifax, and fought two cardiac arrests after birth,
The doctors said she’d never walk, talk, and function,
Or outlive her teens: but you just determine yourself.
She did lots of school sports and made the talent day,
By the BPA at that good old sports and tech university,
Loughborough, where she met Tanni Grey’s husband,
Dr Ian Thomson, who made her into racing authority.
She’s a wheelchair racer in the T34 class of sprints.
Her father, who she’s very close to and is a welder,
Built her first racing chair which was fast and neat:
He takes her out every morn on the Yorkshire felder.
At the Worlds 2011, in Christchurch in New Zealand,
Hannah won gold in both the 100 and the 200 metres,
And then, the Hurricane spry in 2012 London scored,
When she took gold in these two events again - litres!
She took gold at Lyon at the IPC Worlds, two, 2013,
Then in Swansea at the Euros she again took two,
And then 2015 at the Worlds in Doha she won three,
And now at Rio in the Paras she’s homed three due.
She breaks all the records with WRs, ERs and PRs,
Demolishing her personal best most times to achieve,
Ahead by 10 metres, 6, or even 4, she’s my stat hero,
And studies sports and media at university, to sleeve.
Rhoda Monihan
_________
I am extremely sad about the tragic accident which happened today in the cycling road race at Rio on a downhill stretch of the course. Iranian cyclist Bahman Golbarnezhad, aged 48, died of a cardiac arrest which he suffered in the ambulance after sustaining a brain injury when he crashed. My thoughts and love are with his family and friends. He leaves behind a wife and a son.
Jose, Harvey, Irma, Gert,
Cat. Five puts us on alert.
Howsoever they are named,
Mother's fury can't be tamed.
Churning, roiling, liquid wall,
looming four-plus metres tall.
Floods of biblical expanse,
survival just happenstance.
Wind whipped into lethal squall,
hammers those trapped in its thrall.
Sturdy palm trees battered flat,
Man and beast lost habitat.
Follow devastation's trail,
turmoil on a global scale.
Home and business torn apart,
plucking at strings of the heart.
Lacking basic requisites,
in amongst the detritus.
Mourning all that has been lost,
how begin to count the cost?
Thank the selfless volunteers,
who assist their stalwart peers.
Former tropic paradise,
scene of noble sacrifice.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
11 September 2017
My thoughts and best wishes go out to all those affected by the catastrophic weather in the Caribbean and the United States.
For the "Hurricanes" contest, sponsored by Julie Rodeheaver.
(5th Place)
Two metres apart
Is where we start
Then self-isolate
Before it’s too late
Wash your hands
Else virus expands
Using PPE
Helps safety
Society shut
We all stay put
Food shops empty
Used to be plenty
No supermarket trawl
Just Internet haul
But what of the old
Whose lives now unfold
There’s no face-to-face
Now virtual place
We laugh, we sing, we joke
Keeps spirits up for us folk
Videos to see
WhatsApp glee
Woman’s sneeze
Toddler flees
Toilet roll
Not cash he stole
Human environmental attack
Pandemic weapon – nature fights back
World at war
Like never before
So many go that extra mile
Never happened for such a long while
Good things can come out of so much pain
Self-centred actions we all must refrain
Once over it’s time to rethink
As humanity steps back from the brink
Wake up call
For us all
A breakaway
To share with friends
Have been indoors
For weeks on end
Cautiously
emerging
From total isolation
Wiping sleep
from tired eyes
look forward
to a joyous celebration
~
When Corvid struck
most every Nation
No more outings
No more friends
Life for me was home alone
a tortoise fast asleep
in hibernation
~
Now with my mask
And handy gel
I’m so excited
Can’t you tell
For today
I’m off to Devon
And I’m in seventh heaven
I am sharing a break
With my bestie ~ my mate
Both her and I
are soaring high
No hugs just yet
Two metres must be kept
Sending out our virtual hugs
that come straight from our heart
Laughing ~ talking ~ catching up
like two wee kids
just wishing it would start…
Written 14th July 2020
Contest STRAND COMPLETELY NEW (10)
Sponsor Brian Strand
HONORABLE MENTION
Miles have i spent,
Years and month my pen did rent.
1 poem started it all.
0 worry; stress fall.
0 delay; I billed my initiatives.
0 coin; paid the dean of all creatives.
Time evolved around me,
Heaven served me pleasant meals.
Periods of test i write still
Omnipotent did me feed.
Endless inspiration lurks around me.
Motion of success keep pushing me.
Metres on metres my pen did cry.
Yuletide and Easter; heaves all like sigh.
1 day have i sat to think
0 worry; the weaver did my brain blink.
0 delay; my blood keep pushing me-write
write.
0 coin; Mercy bade for me-before i was a-
sight.
Tasked i my eyes day and night.
Hall of fame; one day i'll be a-sight.
Pen tread the path of exploit.
Order of life,i did exploit.
Enchanting rhymes i often crave.
Mending my piece, avoiding disgrace.
Maker?,i'll continue to write.
Yams season,drought till all is bright.
1 day will i break the cord.
0 worry; that day will i be Lord.
0 delay; mood and readiness are bethroted.
0 coin; that often gets me elated.
Ten times ten times ten give birth to this.
Heaven bear me witness; Elevate me at least.
Praying often day and night.
Old and new folks trying to loose what i
knot tight.
Elevation is all yet i crave for.
Mounting still with pen and i'll never fall.
17:05:09:14:45
Many place names in Australia reek of notoriety and oppression
Where massacres took place, involved first nation native population,
men, women and children, demonstrates gross inhumane expression
Many of these place names remain, Bones Knob, Murderers Flat, Skull Creek
are mapped in a university publication
The area where my family resided
may similarly have followed, same infamous identification
My paternal Scottish ancestors, original settlers on our family farm from eighteen sixties,
a time of many massacres
With axes sweat and labour cleared the timber, populated the land with sheep
Were they involved in a massacre? And if so, my father, was it a secret he did keep ?
Existing on the nearest road a signpost declaring Butchers Ridge
only a couple of hundred metres from the old original family home
Allegedly named after a horse called Butcher
far and wide he purportedly did roam
When I was young, the story I was told about this horse
he repeatedly escaped from his owners farm, crossed a bridge
Was always discovered on a sloping piece of land,
hence the area was given the name of Butchers Ridge
A different story of the naming of this area which makes more sense
was revealed by mother after father passed away
A massacre took place giving this area its name, about which my father never spoke
did my father bear inherited shame ? It's history now no one can really say
One full moonlit night, around the time of one unable to sleep
decided to arise, some teenage pleasure I would seek
Go fishing catch a big bag of speckled brown trout
from the stream there known as Butchers Creek
Halfway between the house and my intended destination
an eerie whooshing sound right above my head
Look up !! Nothing visible on this very still clear night
Very quickly reverse my fishing decision !!! Hastily run back to the safety of my bed !!!
I have spoken to several first nation dreamtime elders about this weird eerie sound
i experienced on that distant fishing full moonlit night
They say its first nation native spirits venting anger
thus responsible for my fear. I think they may be right
Blossom
Poem
Lionel Derbyshire
Road trip to Blossom
My growing up home
It is a farm place
In sunshine and
Fresh ozone
Lush and green.
I'm heading there
I'm going home
Driving on
Like running wonder
I'm going home,
I'm comin home
Run wonder.
Onward hill's break past
Heading on ..
Bouncing up and down
Little .. little behind me
Passing wayward streams
Dry winds blowing by
On the road again
Morning breaks
Grey to blue
Today is crisp .. true
I'm heading Blossom..
I'm going there.
I'm riding on
Run wonder
I'm comin home
I'm comin home
Run wonder.
There ! rise a shape ..
A solitary farm gate
Swelling great
Painted Blossom A name.
I ain't dreaming
No genie, no lamp.
Miles and metres pickle by
The birds tickle full of fun
They fly up and down.
Blossom !
Open your gate ..
I am coming in
Run wonder
I m comin home
I m comin home
Run wonder
Her roof A painted red
Her walls still standing tall.
The humble rafters looking fine.
The windows glowing glee
They greet me ..
I am going in
The big brown door
Invitingly in.
Carnation's are blooming
Red and white
A bubble burstling
It's buregeon bliss
Feeling touching picking
No leaf A broken.
This home coming treat..
This home coming feast.
Run wonder
Running for the gate
Where I was a child
I m home
I m home
Run wonder
Blossom !!
Home at last
Still fresh and sweet.
Why
do I
write
this way
did I
hear you
say?
Why
don't you
pen
in lines
with
commas,
apostrophes;
and rhymes
iambs
metres
or
syllables
and stress
I suppose
to get
your close
attention
with my
sound
patterns
I guess
to
read me
aloud
as poems
should
and once
did
to
attract
a
crowd
When darkness falls, when night prevails
And moonlight alone, walks with me
Will Faith go astray, or will God lead the way
In the Den of the Holy See
Will these strangest of times that we live in
Lead to unwritten laws that do harm
Will greed and the needs of the elitest few
Lead to comfort in Gods open arms
When death rears its head and ugliness shows
When apostolic flame can’t incite.
Priests wielding pistols, holy water within
Two metres away, practice Rites
Our Faith dies a death, once it’s needed
Creates a new ordered zeitgeist
Though we serve at the altar and eat of the flesh
And drink of the blood of Christ
Science demands to be proven
What the scientists fail to believe
Takes God from the lips of the peoples
Implantation of doubt in ‘Gods Seed’
Social media induced, arguments dispel
A World that is lost in discord
The Church doors are closed in the faces of those
Who have served in the name of the Lord
When nothing remains, but your Faith
You instinctively know what is right
Sympathy for the devil, overrules all the rules
Angels doubt! In the midst of the fight
When all that is left is all that is needed
When no reason nor logic remain
Exalted on high in the Devils discord
Then nowt but your Faith shall remain!