Long Muse Poems
Long Muse Poems. Below are the most popular long Muse by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Muse poems by poem length and keyword.
Soup friends are just...out of sight!
When lonely and sad in the night
Their poems I read
And come up to speed
Then everything seems ALL right! ;)
Poems in shapes and sizes
Poets in different guises
Some are really hot
Their words hit the spot
So welcome to the prizes!!
Some write of nature and plants
and rhymes are written of ants
Some hot body parts
Some mention the arts
While others write raves and rants
Poets have stories to tell
And mostly, they are all swell
Some write about S E X
Their great big "dog" Rex ;)
Or how we'll all burn in hell!
Try out a contest or two
A collab of muse and you
haiku may be fun
word games and a pun
Don't stick to the tried and true
you must at times take a stand
Just hope that you won't be banned
write "naughty" but "nice"
Add lots of hot spice
and hope that you won't get canned
This SOUP has tidbits galore
one taste will make you want more
Soup diet is great
So don't hesitate
Eat up!! There's more soup in store!!
A revised edition of an older write. We need some levity. It's not really my thing...but hey, trying to be versatile but still old school. Each limerick is 77557. I know the meter is not always spot on, but....it's not really my FORM! ;)
With all the bad- I got good news,
for five months I have had the blues;
all my thoughts tangled up with muse,
to despair I said- I refuse;
just worked on hobbies to amuse.
My mind went to awful places,
I prayed to God for his grace's;
friends gave me blooms and embraces,
I wept at roses in vases.
Waiting was endless and scary,
I became quite solitary;
my home a safe sanctuary.
I did a lot of soul searching;
there was a lot of soul aching.
then the phone call came - no cancer
I am thinking about tattoos,
of butterfly wings and faces;
visited the cemetery,
told my mom the good news shaking;
whispering- mom, got the answer.
___________________________
March 27, 2020
Poetry/Rhyme/Minuanetta/I Have Good News, Mom
Copyright Protected, ID 20-1239-391-03
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Written for Minuanetta Contest
sponsor, Emile Pinet
First Place
do not know what made me engage,
with poetry from early age,
first poem was about boyhood,
may be, penned in a poignant mood,
during teen years, hormones kicked in,
poems had intentions to sin!
when in love,I wrote about her,
sonnets, odes in my love letter,
those youthful days were ecstasy,
poems were dreams and fantasy,
with children! to earth did revert!
my muse quickly packed and desert!
my lovely wife’s mum came to stay,
she glared at me, complained all day,
when she left, children were in school,
more relaxed, found my writing tool,
then on a sunny, autumn’s day,
through window, my muse found his way,
when forty, I described weather,
spring, autumn, winter and summer,
wife read it and thought I was nuts,
“other male species were in ruts!
you write about birds and farm cow,
you can get real and show me love!”
I threw away pen out that day,
I feared my wife might think me Gay!
thanks to pharmacy regained youth,
to poems didn’t give a hoot!
Now at age sixty I am back,
of pleasing my wife found the knack,
I write poetry on iPad,
after watered, fed, wife looks glad,
happy in bed, when hear her snore,
take out iPad to write some more!!
‘A Poet’s duty’ contest
Sponsor Beth Evans
8 syllables
written 08/October/2020
When letters wait to pounce on a blank page,
when thoughts crowd the mind like frothing scum in a pond
I keep wondering what poetry is to me and to many
Is it not the language of the heart
with no intervention of gray matter
the unlocking of closed vaults
stirring the embers of love, hurt or pain
or giving a free rein to fancy and flying
on magic carpets to lands forlorn
Sometimes it is a glide into a sea of tranquillity
an escape from the humdrum of the world
a flash of liberation from assaults of pain
a sedative to numb the turmoil
a sanctuary for a burdened heart
a window to look at the world through
a companion when one is inconsolably alone
a candle flame in a darkening world
a cloth line to hang the dirty laundry
a water lily blooming in the pool of tears
a shelter in homelessness
sometimes it is a ladder to climb up to Heavens
an angel on wings with tidings of hope
peace in a world braced for war
Poetry, if you are all these let us fall at your feet
bless us in our art, may we splurge in fancy
and conjure up worlds from words!
Our poems may not be light houses
but could be fireflies on a starless night!
Submitted for Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
July. 25. 2022
Submitted for Marathon Mile, No.14. Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Mark Toney
~ Placed First~
Poem on Poetry Muse Poetry Contest
Sponsor – Beta Agustin
Hellenic Hands
I thought today about your hands.
Long, graceful and strong.
How you carried dishes with such grace!
How when you invited me to dance Hasapiko,
Those velvet hands, Koukla, who could refuse?
In those moments, I became your helpless Muse.
And even though five decades have passed,
And our lives are at their welcome close,
Offer me your welcome fingers now.
To our Arcadia, we fly through planet filled skies~
Wrapped in an eternal embrace.
Soaring with stardust sprinkles~
To live eternally, together,yes, you and I.
To create a new constellation,
Forever...atwinkle.
Panagiota Romios
3/13/2019
Craziest Time at the Time of Spilled Soup
I spilled a bowl of vegetable soup –
Slipped on the shiny waxed floor;
The scene I saw made my muse utter expletives –
Fainting in horror at the kitchen door.
Choruses of carrots crushed on the curtains
Prose of Potatoes pelted the windowpanes
Lyrics of limas littered the linoleum
Odes of onions overturned on the oven
Turnips of Thesaurus tumbling free
Sonnets of seasoning scorched on the stove top
Epics of eggplant - emjambment escaping
Ballads of beets beat feet to the back porch
Meters of mushrooms marching on marble
Verses of “vege’s” with visible vertigo
Prosody of pumpkin all over the place
Rhymes of rutabagas running-a-muck
Blues of black beans bashed in the butler’s pantry
Couplets of croutons covered the ceiling
Free verse of fiddleheads floats by the “frig”
Sestinas of spinach stuck to the sink.
Oh, what a sight of poetic distress –
Letters and phrases all over the space
Carefully sorted all the rhythms and rhymes
Put everything back in its proper place.
Craziest time at the time of spilled soup!
8/5/20
166 words
Choice #1
Honeysuckle trees have grown all over my yard
What can I do with this? Being a bard….
I counted the ones that are the easiest to see
They came into our house and commandeered our TV
Now a gang, they have a mascot and are wearing colors
We are just the start one told me. There are many others.
They demanded I make them a breakfast buffet.
My husband asked me “when are they going away?”
My writing muse tells me next to nothing, so I could not reply.
I am hoping these trees get tired of TV by and by.
They are watching Matlock now, as I fix them lunch.
Make it salty, a honeysuckle said to me, and make it crunch.
Sow seeds before green garden ye savour,
Eat fruits of toil and sweat only thy own,
Quote no quotes often chewed, void of flavour,
No garden goes green, not by hard toil grown.
Be it an insight, brainwave as never,
One’s own muse is most inspiring maid known.
For long man, who’s forbidden fruits desired,
Goes on a wander lust such fruits to fish,
Why the Garden of Eden is admired,
Why things proscribed go for greater relish.
It is no sin to get by greats inspired
If you add your own, cook not someone’s dish.
World is the sole piece of creative art,
The rest is inspired, all of it or part.
_______________________
Sonnet |03.03.2009, revised Feb 2025|
Note: This sonnet does not follow the Pythagorean divide between the octave and sestet commonly found in sonnets, but an equal one followed by a couplet resolving the premise.
"A Conversation with Aenesidemus"
all perceptions are relative
and interact
one upon another
take a coin
stand it vertical
spin it
gravity does that
it’s one way or the other
there is no in between
middle roads
even when you hold it
steady between your fingers
there is one side or the other
the middle exists
it stands for what its worth
for a short time
let go of the hold,
it wobbles and
topples over
and falls in line
one side or the other
eventually
choices are detours
you may take the high road
and one may take the low road
the road less traveled
too, converges,
where both high and low roads
eventually meet,
some say its complex
if you ask me,
designed,
even chaos has its place,
simple, neat
all perceptions are relative
and interact
upon another
truth,
he said,
varies infinitely
under circumstances
whose relative weight
cannot be accurately gauged
nor guaranteed
therefore, there is
no absolute knowledge
for everyone,
for all people
are brought up
with different beliefs
under different laws
under different
social conditions
yet, he says,
pyrrhonistically
speaking
all perceptions are relative
and interact
upon another
hiccups
contradictory
scrolls of tropai modes
the suspension
of judgment
it’s enough
to do your head in
all this walking on water
a real tonic
for those
experiencing cptsd
humour and
intelligencia
assists,
streaming
light through
jadeful windows
enter left screen
Belief
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
Used by the Muse
Here I sit, after the holidays.
Everything is quiet,
and waiting for the big party,
to end the year.
Struggling on page 95 of a hopeful 220,
I am stuck, thinking of the past,
wishing for the future,
and trying to be alive for the now.
Poetry makes me happy,
or sad, let's be real,
it is heartfelt,
soul boggling and
warm like the sun,
cold-like the moon,
and frostbitten,
on the fingers.
The novel I struggle,
the prose much the same,
it is the rhythm and melody,
that dance differently,
between the lines,
to entertain and take
the reader to places;
wild adventure,
physics bent,
pretzels made for giants,
that do not eat sweets anymore.
And law(s) that is(are) just,
and unjust but spent.
96 is calling and bits of 200,
but in due time, all will be.
The Last Dance,
a romance,
for a man without a country,
between the good and evil,
of a world that no longer...
dares to care.