Long New form Poems
Long New form Poems. Below are the most popular long New form by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long New form poems by poem length and keyword.
(A lone voice whispers)
I always used to wonder
Where do Robins go to sleep
Then one dark night
Within a deep all-consuming lucid dream
At approximately one o'clock
A beautiful deity appeared out of the mist
Wearing a blue and white coat
Holding a Lily and a shining lantern
Across its shoulder, a golden trumpet and a branch from Paradise
On its golden belt
Hung a scepter and a silver scroll
As it strolled towards me
Within my illustrious sleeping streams
A strange palace of darkness
Where no birds
Flew or squawked
Its mysterious ever watchful eyes
Held me firmly transfixed
Like an ethereal heavenly hawk
Its bright white orbs
Swallowed me whole
As it whispered words
I'll remember
Until I'm old
Within the light of day,
We appear
Your beloved and even I
To watch over and visit you
To see and follow all that you do
When we, the blessed few
Waiting in the new spectacular bright white lights
In the glorious cathedrals of Atmos, shadowy arches
Cross over
When allowed a brief time
Before we are eventually
Reunited in a new form
To rejoice in hymn
Within your All Highs
Divine Church
Depending upon
The faith of your choice
To visit those we still
Love
To leave a sign or sing
A sonnet
Happily with echoes of our new voice as we too mourn
Then in here
At darkness
In
The Great In-Between
A place you all visit
Whenever you fall asleep
In deep dreams,
We always appear
For real spiritual shapeshifters
Like us
Never really sleep
We just transform into Robins
Through a supernatural technique
For sometimes they are merely vessels
We use
Just one of our everlasting souls keeps
So if you see one
And it sings
Looking straight at you
Remember this
It's just a beloved loved one
Maybe even me
Archangel Gabriel
Channelling
Through
And with that beautiful closing line
It disappeared quietly
Back into the receding winds that whined
Of the Hidden Divine
And when I awoke at eight,
I'm sure it met me
Sat on my old garden's wooden gate
My beautiful friend
Who loves to sit on the washing line
Whispering and singing
Hello
Sending shivers and tingling
Shooting
As I remember that dream
All the way
Up and down
My sinuous
spine
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
So the morning star stood against the heavens,
Then Jehovah sent mighty angels to battle against
Lucifer, the devil.
Lucifer fought with gangsters but lost;
Being haul down to earth losing a side wing:
Father of all lies, turn humanity against Jehovah,
The creator of all things that was;
That is and that someday may be.
Humanity knew sin and fell short to the glory of God:
His daily pace was directed by the footprint of the
wicked one.
God repented over humanity, but pitied the cause of
change:
Jehovah made his word as flesh among humanity,
But wickedness of men draged the lamb of the
world and nailed him to a cross.
Amazingly, Jehovah resurrected Jesus Christ from
the grave and
Quickened and empowered the left eleven to go out
there and preach the gospel.
Sorrowful persecution and tribulation followed the
disciples till their dying day:
Now the walk hasn’t change,
But the devil has implemented a strategy by music
To lure and own as many as he could:
Music has come to drive immorality through the
heart and mind of many,
Negatively, seducing the streets; changing money
for fornication and fame.
This shall slowly pervade lands upon lands until it
covered the entire world.
And the Bible been out of sight and mind, but, upon
the hearts of the elects;
Seen churches turned to shopping malls and club
houses.
These times the dragon has been held in the world;
Bringing oneness among the people, and every
culture:
A new form of currency in a form of a mark;
Those that should accept would receive every
necessity available,
But those that should rise against would be even
robbed of the little they own.
Wickedness would amass as God Almighty might
for a while part with humanity.
You could name it a world of mammon.
Kirk of Satan could be found everywhere:
Lovers of CHRIST JESUS,
Getting persecutions through the test of time;
Then at a day untold, CHRIST JESUS would break
from the firmament,
When the sky darkened;
Those with the beast mark (tattoo) would be
exposing by the great light;
The sea would vomit (spiritually) every life in it.
There would be no place for them to hide.
They may cut themselves with blades and stones,
wishing to escape the wrath of God.
Judgment for the righteous would be honor but for
the wicked shame.
.
Hi y’all, i’m ‘bout to explicate a poetic form which I have been sharing with those on the Soup for some yearz now (sparsely) yet, never expounded it’s dynamics.
For sum yearz now; i've dripped this new poetic form on the Soup's slips, not knowing how to explain the form to y’all. Though, i guess now iz uh great time,
i feel confident. So, let’s bounce (or drip:) to it!
Okie-dokie; mine new form iz called, "dip" likewise, it's cousins; “double dip", “triple dip”, “royal dip”, and, last but not least, “crown’d dip”. Therefore, for y’all hungry for teach; here'z one uv my exemplificationz uv uh “dip” ‘)
intro> az her lively
crossed
mine
look's see
juxtapoze> every hern
(s) 'bout
glister'd
az her lively
crossed
Mine
look's see
every 'bout hern
glister'd every hern
'bout
glister'd
^
the "dip"
*p.thuh.s...
The "dip" form only makes
sense 'centering' thuh write ')
*follow this format in all uv
edvard'z "dips"... intro
subject
juxtapose ,)
Bottle of tears is my first version of this poetic legacy series
Skeleton of tears is which the venerated versatility carries.
This might be called as a sequel of alacrity or prolongation
But best before this is a celluloid and my heart and art collaboration.
In this poem “I or me” signify tears
Tears personify her expressions and emotions
Read this and know the life legacy of tears with concentration
And finally your fur, fleece and fuzz stand erect in attention.
Tears personify, I am compacted in stars
I am compressed between hurdles and wars
I am combusted on scorches
I am confided from Ishtar torches.
Tears epitomize, eternal bone of mine is an ominous emotion.
The Sagaras; Sarpada, Satluj shaded a challenge to my dire destination.
That one eve ever the fever of cleavers cannot catch up with me.
And the damp humidity of drought could not cope up with me.
Tears embody, I float on the branches of poignant army
I flood around the builds of happiness
I reach the borders of hell-heeled layers
And I roof down the clouds to my feet and make them rain prayers
Tears swank ,When my real steel sizzled atoms of blood,
Come together to conjure a flood.
The heated ink of emotions ignites to molt the black clouds
And let me visualize in which eve shall it swounds.
Tears exemplify, my liberty leads the immense flame in the hands of torch bearer
My prodigy evokes the waves hard under visions of volcanoes
The lust of my silvered glory was inspired from the shiny heavenly threads of feudal dart.
And the symptom of my introduction will be the rise of a burning heart.
God of hostility typify: Convinced that the fever of lava can't cope up with me
And the humidity of drought can"t hope up the level with me
In such a water working poem this is the conclusion
That even the pacific evaporate when my eternal strength feel thirsty after a tear solidification.
And now the spirits incarnate, my iron lungs had oxidized with the bitter-sour chilled water
after reading it and they crackled their internal matter into ignitious crater.
And now I will come to compete with and complete the legacy BOT(Bottle of Tears)
In the new form and with new fire firmed eyes to show you the third part “Kingdom for Disarmament of Tears ”.
4/14/2016
All you need is the will. Where there is a will, there is always a way.
But, my polluted mind couldn't see the path to success ahead.
No map exists to sobriety, or a magical compass to recovery
The lifestyle I once lived, so empty and desolate.
Only able to completely rely on my own self.
For recovery, you need people. And, people are willing to help.
I surrounded myself with all of the acronyms.
AA, NA, MIA. I felt lost in the madness.
A peer in recovery helped me find a start; a Detox program.
These words so unsettling to any real drug addict.
But, this time I was done. Beyond done, Completely over it.
Their medications allowed me to surpass that three day barrier.
A mark of achievement I had so many other times missed.
By day seven, I started to feel slightly more normal.
A pre-dope normal, one that existed before the drugs took over.
But, then I opened my eyes and I saw the doors.
I knew exactly where those doors led to...
They led to the street. They led right back to the needle.
So I just stayed, and moved right into their inpatient program.
A place I swore wholeheartedly I would never go.
The twenty-eight days can be summed up in one word: Reassuring.
Each day I grew more confident, and began to feel reassured.
Just when I came to an acceptance that recovery was truly possible.
Once again, I stood weary at those same two doors.
I decided to speak out. It came from a place of fear and despair.
I was directed into a new form of safe haven.
IOP, with an emphasis on the "intensive."
For four hours a day, for four days a week, I worked at recovery.
Each day building upon my new foundation of inner strength.
When, and only when, I felt completely ready.
I left IOP, and again I immersed myself in those acronyms.
I also found a healthy replacement for my abundant time.
The gym became my therapy, relieving me both body and mind.
Working out was my new "high." Only this time it was healthy.
Through the entirety of this life changing experience.
I learned many new things about life, about myself.
Proving that where there's a will, there is definitely a way.
It took first reaching rock bottom, and the absolute lowest of lows.
to learn first hand, that you can't reach the top, without first being at the bottom.
INT. SCENE 1 – THE AWAKENING – DAY
FADE IN:
It was born in a test tube,
Twitching organic mass, form skewed.
They fed it chaos and it grew.
More tests ordered. More data due.
They poked it daily for a phase,
Kept in an incubator daze.
Mesmerising to watch,
This new form scared of touch.
It was secret, shrouded in myth.
No regret subverting parental shift.
They caged it for safety,
They said.
It would rage, unsure of identity.
It bled.
But did it feel pain? Skins shed.
The question kept being asked.
They poked again—curiosity unmasked.
-
EXT. SCENE 2 – THE ESCAPE – NIGHT
The compound was a proud facility,
A bastion of societal stability.
But they had no idea what they had.
They didn’t know it was sad,
Or how that rage would come in waves—
Bursts of fury none could brave.
Of course it escaped.
It saw trees, tried their shape.
Standing gave no thrill,
So it moved on with sentient will.
No longer content to mimic or mirror—
Its form turned strange, its outline unclear.
INSERT: NEWSCAST AUDIO
“Smelly blob terrorizes locals—”
It became the talk of social vocals.
It smells, it looks forlorn.
It better behave or be clearly gone.
Edges undefined,
Obscure and growing all the time.
Tentacles and warped limbs,
A head that could be a stomach—or wing.
A sight to shake your footing if you dared to look up.
It reached the city, tore buildings down.
Huge now, destruction for a crown.
It stomped, it thrashed, toward the centre bound.
And the scholars in their coats
Poked again—
It hollered, several guttural throats.
-
EXT. SCENE 3 – THE BATTLE – DAY
They didn’t know what it was—so they tried to destroy it.
It ran amok. We can’t employ it.
We can’t live with what we can’t control.
We mustn’t underestimate our role.
Kill the beast.
Then—it spoke.
CAMERA PANS IN – THE MONSTER SPEAKS
I’m ill-formed.
You brought me here, gave me these tools.
I don’t know what I am either,
But I’m trying to find where I belong.
To roam, to take shape.
I want your help—
But I won’t get it.
In the tube, I felt defined.
Out here, misplaced.
Scared and angry feel the same.
If I must be killed,
Aim for the head—
But tell me first…
Where that is.
FADE OUT: sirens stop, dust settles, silence.
Ripples
Down the dusty road,
in tattered rags,
He came,
weary,
wilted,
and
withered.
Body bent with age,
bones sticking out of the flabby skin,
with a tremor
running down his limbs.
With eyes reflecting hope,
he waited at my doorstep.
No words came out from pursed lips
but,
in mute language
begged for alms,
hopeful he would never be betrayed
I held his shriveled hand,
helped him ascend the steps.
Like a child obeying it’s Elder,
he sat on a chair in the patio.
The sumptuous fare, served before,
he surveyed with eyes
bulging out in utter disbelief,
and greedily devoured
every bit of morsel.
A rare gleam lighted up his face.
With hands folded in benison
he stood up and silently took leave.
I watched him stumble
along the country track
and fade away in the distance.
Ripples of joy stirred my mind
in ever widening circles
as, a pebble idly tossed
causes ripples in still waters
over a random act of kindness
idly tossed !
Kindness
Down the dusty road, in tattered rags he came-
An old man- weary, wilted, and withered.
Supported on a stick, still he staggered lame,
And with age and fatigue, his body quivered.
I could see a tremor running down his hips.
With expectant eyes, he waited at my doorstep.
No words came out of his pursed lips.
He was tottering as he took each step.
I held his hand, helped him to the patio.
Like a child obeying its elder, he sat on a chair
With eyes sending out a radiant glow,
From the sumptuous fare served, he ate his share.
As he finished his meal, a gleam lighted up his face.
He stood up with hands folded in benison
And took leave, bowing and smiling in grace.
I was so happy that I could make his world blazon.
I watched him stumble along the uneven track
And fade away like a shadow in the distance.
So elated I was that the tears of joy I couldn’t hold back,
With an ebullience penetrating my mind’s outer surface.
As a pebble idly tossed cause ripples in still water,
A random act of kindness idly tossed gave me such delight.
As the ripples keep widening and on the banks splatter,
In me, the joy over my kind act, as waves began to beat.
Poetry that inspires
In fleeting time, a moment we possess,
to turn our dreams into pure happiness;
The sun may rise and set a thousand ways,
but now's the hour to bloom, to truly bless.
—-
A spark within, a flame that dares to rise,
against the darkest night, it softly burns;
And though the road be long and filled with sighs,
the heart within, to hope, forever turns.
In trials deep, the soul will find its way,
through clouds of doubt, it searches for the light;
Each step, though small, is bold enough to say,
I’ll find my wings and lift myself in flight.
For in each breath, a universe unfolds,
a dream reborn with every beat we take;
The will to rise again, to break the molds,
is all we need to bend but never break.
So hold this truth through struggle and through strife,
You are the poet of your own bright life.
—-
A single thought can light the way,
And turn the night into the day.
With hope and joy, let worries flee,
For what we think is what we'll be.
A smile can bloom where doubt once stood,
A gentle shift from "can’t" to "could."
So let your mind soar free and wide,
And see the world from the bright side.
—
The morning light filters through the window, casting a golden hue on the day ahead. Each moment is a chance, a gift, wrapped in possibility. The worries of yesterday fade into the distance as the heart chooses to embrace what is new. The power to transform lies within, waiting for the mind to whisper, "Yes, you can."
wings of hope take flight,
in the dawn’s soft, glowing touch~
a new path begins.
—
When the road feels long and skies turn gray,
Know the sun will rise to light your way.
Each step you take, though slow, is sure,
For strength is built in trials you endure.
Believe in you, for you are strong,
The journey’s hard, but not for long.
With every stumble, you learn to stand,
The future’s bright, within your hand.
So lift your eyes, and face the day,
The storm will pass, the clouds give way.
Keep moving forward, brave and true,
The world awaits the best of you.
Written Sept 30, 2024
© Dr Upma A. Sharma
New form of poetry that is combo of various forms of poetry
(Rubaiyat, Sonnet, Rhyme, Haibun, Rhyme)
Let’s be honest, I’m not that honest.
Be honest,
Just this once.
Forget all the dilutions of grandeur,
The noise.
Eat it so hard in the teeth that your mouth has a voice.
Unclench your tongue just long enough to choke on your words…
Then swallow your words,
They were never your word.
Just like it was never a case of, “she isn’t the other half of me”. Rational thoughts of that nature that tried to tie emotion to logic were as implausible as the idea that I had any idea in the first place.
It’s a philosophy contingent on empirically knowing that even the most limited of vocabularies can stutter words, reliant on misspelled synonyms that do more justice to a mind clumsy-drunk on love than any perfectionists wet dream of punctuation ever would.
It’s supposed to be messy.
Nights of trying to read the label on prescriptions through empty bottles gave self-induced illiteracy a formal introduction to Benzodiazepines.
See, attempts at dreams of you leave me isolated with feelings of resentment and distain in times of consciousness for nothing more than a lack of sleep.
Insomnia,
A new form of self-deprivation,
A therapy of sorts.
Wearing my “oh so apparent” membership card of bloodshot eyes and shaky hands with pride I’ve developed pipe dreams of time spent with the pillow in a utopia of…you.
I called you Benzo.
The irony is, the only provocation of panic that can get my mind racing fast enough to keep stride with the heart palpitations induced by you saying some other guy’s name is when you say mine.
The type of sickness I only experience when my mind decides to throw out the jury.
Anti-climactic, like her not being home when you knock on the door ready to recite a speech you wrote to explain how words aren’t enough anymore.
Standing there pledging allegiance to silence because the color of words has and always will be too dull to complete our portrait of perfection.
You keep your smiles guarded, with reason. All the more reason that I know I earned every last one, and the last one I got made me realize sometimes you got to burn it to the ground at a moment’s notice.
A flat line to a punch line, silence drowned out the noise…
Recent reports indicate that as many as 36%
of community college students are food deprived.*
In times like these, our country could easily transition
from food deprived to 'food denied'. May God forbid.
By now, history should have taught us that if not properly
handled, we are one panic away from disastrous pandemonium.
In Biblical time, there was a food bank, and distribution of food was
being made. It appears that this practice may have been a new form of
assisting people in need. By today's standards, this was a small Christian
endeavor endorsed and promoted by the local church in Jerusalem. This new
enterprise took place after Jesus' ascension and some time after the festival of Pentecost; perhaps that same year. Things were off to a good start as converts gave of their means to aid each other and the new converts which were growing daily.
And then it happened. The Jewish leaders of the food distribution ministry were accused of being partial and discriminating against the Greeks. This was surely a cause for panic, but this problem was immediately resolved at the highest level. There was panic, but not a riot. There was resolution without government interference or politics. Harmony and tranquility were reestablished with minimal disturbance.
Right and righteous leadership was appointed without distracting or causing the greater purpose to be compromised. Immediate and wise response, not reaction, allowed the panic but disallowed a pandemonium. The times and seasons may differ, but people are the same; and wise and proper principles work on any and every continent.
072921PSCtest, Panic At The Food Bank, Kai Michael Neumann *Abigail Johnson "AJ" Hess @AbigailJHess