Long Names Poems
Long Names Poems. Below are the most popular long Names by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Names poems by poem length and keyword.
A happy ending was never written about two villains
They’ve dug two graves for us
In the ground, we’ll rot until we disappear
Life is too short to keep living in fear
Stop fighting this my dear
I already told you our end is near
Can’t you see that it’s us against the demons we fight?
Bonnie and Clyde with guns strapped to our thighs
Red and blue sirens are calling our names
We won’t stop until this world is in flames
We’re fighting for our sanity while saving each other
Our dreams used to be in color but even there we now suffer
Hell is the only place we can be with each other
I hope you’ve said your goodbyes to your brothers and mother
Form:
.CORLEO the robot inspired our venture
the robot with navigation control
seeking cactus fruit and rare stones
the brittlebush and desert lilies patterns
embordered in to silks and cottons
from the looms of yarners the warmth of a poncho
a tent and rv for staying
CORLEO for exploration
"the area known as desert Tulips."
The vibrant blooms of the Adenium Obesum
they sought to find the treasures in
a complicated environment.
peyote, a cactus with a button-like crowns
she spoke again in a much noticeable tone
her voice a soothing distinctive tone
a songlike chant a melonic flow
Banda the brasses and woodwinds
could her melonic tone as she spoke
nearly singing, she soothed me into her words
we came upon an outcrop of assorted rocks
one to include agate, amethyst, beryl, fluorite,
garnet, opal, barite, calcite, chalcedony,
jasper, quartz, lapis lazuli, and malachite.
walking barefoot on the concrete slab of the trailer
makes her feet as black as tar
Yeshu"a bin Yusef she spoke
of her troubles and in trouble
I will speak this name she said
then I shall seek remedy
and seek solution to our needs
all while not telling what
the crown of the desert
really meant
I felt used and foolish.
My company to her nothing special
as her next friend shall be the same.
Nothing specail, just a mere person
A polarizing perception of a weak man.
The Myth of belonging
just woman exploiting men.
A Brothel in 1800's is belived to be a myth
until a truck of gold is found
and a book with the names of many
people discovered
"Mujer tribal puta" was the cover-up
and now we know why.
they hasd discovered how to use
wires to communicate
and wished to keep
it a secret.
the Joshua Trees rattle from
Quakes.
* Many years now since this very talented, very HUMAN guy left us … those holes never fill, and he is sorely missed. (This is a form I invented called “Tredicum Plus”. *
~
my brother ...
you caught me off guard -
of all those who struggle like we do
in darkness, with the
hideous demons that lurk
I was sure the victory was yours -
that the knight was astride
his steed, steadied -
armor shining bright in the sun
sword and shield, sharp and enduring ...
but alas, it seems the
devil wants the final
fiendish word …
long did I look to you
for strength ...
a flicker of light to guide
me through the murk -
the fog of pain and error and
fallibility that so often
gathers for those of us who
feel too deeply -
who see sensitivity as
more of a curse than a gift …
you understood that path quite well -
walked it many times
as I have …
you knew the beasts
that scratch at our ankles -
those shadowy minions that seek
to rake us into hell with every
step we take in redemption's course
but your light shined so bright!
you held it high and
proud for so long that I took
it for granted - depended on it …
and now that light is snuffed
the black is all the
more oppressive - all the
more glaringly heavy and deep ...
… and empty …
now the path
is twisted, obscured ...
and without the welcome of
your glowing spirit
it will henceforth be cluttered with
ambiguity and question -
each further step, taken in
hesitation and doubt …
tragedy, pain, sorrow, regret
their names matter not -
they wreak the same horrid havoc
and those ragged, merciless monsters
have claimed you …
aye, the sun will rise a wee bit
colder on the morrow, and life’s flavor
is now tinged with bitterness …
still, you left behind a torch of humble exuberance and vitality
and those of us who know the
treacherous paths of life -
those darkened 'parts unknown' -
will hold it high in your memory
and give the devil all he can handle ...
of your mischievous smile
your twinkling eye
and your fierce, fiery heart …
Rest In Peace, Tony.
A rhetorical question finds me ask
king (to no one in particular) why I bask
with recollection the names of blank
exclamatory staid grade school crank
key teachers approximately
42,0480,000 breaths aye drank
fifty years ago (most whose names frank
lee listed below),
when the need to access
and retrieve
immediate necessary information
analogously interleaved
among coaxial bracts
during examinations relegated
as hopelessly lost
into interstitial invisible cranial cracks
irretrievably buried
during examinations, which age
(feels like a million years ago)
often found me seized and caged
with sudden inability to remember
any vital answers as gauged
evidenced by nothing writ
ten on paper (even including my name),
thus loosely similar as aye sit
to compose poetry,
and/or prose tempted to quit
asper defeated by resignation,
and sinking sensation in the pit
of my stomach (more so regarding orbit
ting like an unsound garden
black hole son around cold (mit
ten necessary) awful days grudgingly
handing over like a lit
till insignificant being,
a test paper devoid of academic grit
analogously surrendering
(while feeling fit
tubby tied, sense internally emit
ting abnegation sans chafing at the bit,
yet no sooner did buzzer indicated test
time over, then (of course),
an instantaneous pest
that blocked chunk dramatically
flowered gloriously invoking nest
head treasured mother lode
of learned information invest
ment accounting for principle ball lanced
formerly figuratively barricaded facts
suddenly at my behest
ironically retaining to this day
dogged details amazingly,
now gracing lix spittle fist size gray
dictating academic failure
forcing laying down pen hay
for ma forgotten requisite thoughts may
king skepticism about self thrive, ray
zing mailer demons impossible to slay,
~Glenn Miller~
(acrostic)
G-lenn Miller, his music is so wonderfully sublime, enchanting.
L-istening to his "Moonlight Serenade" makes me think of love so tender.
E-ndless joy, in my heart,his music always brings to me. His given
N-ame was,Alton Glenn Miller.He was born in Clarinda, Iowa, U.S.
N-otoriously,performed the trombone.His Glenn Miller Orchestra is divine
M-usician arranger,composer,and great band leader in the swing era.
I-n The Mood",is onother one of my favorite music pieces of his to this day.
L-ittle Brown Jug" "American Patrol" "Tuxedo Junction" and so many more, his
L-egacy is filled of of so much dancing and romance under a moonlit and stars.
E-ntertaining the troops was something very close to his heart.Glenn Miller,
R-emains one of the most famous and recognizable names of the big band era.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2015
July.21.2015
Author's notes:
My humble poem tribute to one of the greatest and most
unique bandleaders of the big band era,Glenn Miller.
One of my very favorite band leader I personally
love and enjoy hearing the most.I listen to his music
for many years now.And I believe that theres no one like him,
his music can never be duplicated by anyone.
His beautiful music just transcends time and space,forever.
(Born March 1, 1904- Missing December 15,1944)
Years active 1923-1944
In 2003 Miller, received a Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award.
His plane dissapeared while flying over the English Channel.
His remains and that of his crew has never been found.
Miller's status is missing in action up to this date.
Long live the King of Swing!
Our lives have known such different ways
Such different ways have we
And yet despite such varied worlds
The same sun helps us see
The teachings of a higher source
So similar of grain
So why then must our names, our skins
Give rise to hate and pain
The meals we set to nourish babes
To blossom healthy lives
Though dished up from a different pan
A common fire thrives
And yes, the love that bears its fruit
To sow its yielding seed
The very same no matter where
In manner and in deed
Our lives have known such different ways
Such different ways have we
So why not share and learn and form
A larger family
There is a quick-witted woman I know with three names; her silhouette is a mystery; she's had multiple fragile frames.
Many have tried and failed to tame her rather long mane, but honestly, they were lame flames.
Her treks motivate her for life’s endless, gruelling games.
Called a traveller but never exploring for fame, she isn't one of those Instagram dames.
Nobody can catch her riddle
runner strides, she won't win any elections; her temper never slides.
But that humour will take you on some rollercoaster rides.
A compass nucleus of fears revives stifled tides.
Some have labelled her a peaceful poet and writer.
This makes her laugh; she's always been an ample fighter.
In her day job, she wrestles with a highlighter.
Glued to a screen, she implores the sky to make her mind lighter.
When she was knee-high, she dreamed of being a screenwriter.
A secret rapper, perhaps she will win a Grammy as a songwriter.
Only time will tell where she will land with a whisky and pen in her hands on another all-nighter.
Silence
Kate Sparks
2/19/26
The future loosened
from its moorings.
Rooms still hold
his echo.
Rhythms tapped on tabletops.
Sticks turning restless
between long fingers.
Music arriving
without response
The silence widened
where laughter once leaned
toward tomorrow.
Chairs unfilled.
Names seldom spoken.
A drum line
broken.
Rhythm;
once moving
between them
now
silent
No longer called
by the living voice
of “Mother.”
Never summoned
into “Grandmother.”
memories;
dreams,
Silence…
Birthdays drifting;
Silently
unclaimed.
Faded photographs
left
too long in the sun.
Even so,
she remains
what love has made her.
Mother;
un-spoken,
un-answered,
un-mirrored
And beneath
the long passage
of time,
a simple question:
How does a heart grieve
What still lives so vividly?
[Written to be sung, thus…
Verses: roughly to the tune of ‘Ghost riders in the sky’
Chorus: (again, roughly) to the tune of ‘La Cacaracha’]
*
While travelling through Africa to photograph big game
I came across a tribe; Whedda-phokkarrwee is its name
They live where grass grows very long, unlike those people there
They’re very short and call their names while leaping in the air
Whedda-phokkarrwee. Whedda-phokkarrwee
We stand just two feet on the ground
Whedda-phokkarrwee. Whedda-phokkarrwee
We jump so we can look around
That pygmy race of knee high fame they jump to skip the scare
Like when their leader didn’t jump and caught a lion’s glare
He leapt up high into the sky and told it go to hell
So now they jump to find their way and this is what they yell
Whedda-phokkarrwee. Whedda-phokkarrwee
We stand just two feet on the ground
Whedda-phokkarrwee. Whedda-phokkarrwee
We jump so we can look around
So do you hear the bongo sounding positively wrong-o
That’s because there’s tiny people bouncing through the Congo
But they can’t ‘kangaroo’ like loons and play their bongo tunes
But pretty soon you’ll hear the wailing of those bouncy goons
Whedda-phokkarrwee. Whedda-phokkarrwee
We stand just two feet on the ground
Whedda-phokkarrwee. Whedda-phokkarrwee
We jump so we can look around
Pentecost
Festival of First Firsts
The Day of the Giving of the Torah
The Culmination of the Passover
The Season of our Rejoicing...
The Festival of ‘Shavuos’ has many names
Keeping track of them all is a fun game
Shavuos itself means ‘Weeks’ and also ‘Oaths’
Israel counts 49 days – Seven Weeks from Passover to Pentecost
The ‘Oath’ stands for the Oath of Marriage
For on Shavuos, Heaven came down to Earth
God married Israel, His bride
The Torah, their marriage document, their guide for Life
Ever since then, the task of Israel
to reunite Heaven and Earth
And thereby, to the Messianic Era
give long-awaited birth