Long Nineteenth Poems
Long Nineteenth Poems. Below are the most popular long Nineteenth by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Nineteenth poems by poem length and keyword.
Ever since world's creation
earth's reshaping is of note.
Climate-modified history records
begin about the nineteenth century.
Theories document data revealing
collective effect of change
influence climate patterns.
Paleoclimate ice age records show
solar fluctuations, volcanic strength.
Human-induced environmental threats
are minor in the big scheme
of climate change dynamics.
People should not be held responsible
for and cannot in a meaningful scope
deter circumstances of climate change.
Some say this process has to
be stopped. They also predict
dreadfully harmful outcomes to future
generations with no real suggestions
how to reverse or slow down climatic
events. Billions of dollars
have had no effect so far.
March 25, 2018
7-10 Contest By Emile Pinet
8th Place
A non rhythm, twenty two line blank verse poem with 190 Syllables and the following count -
7 7 10 10 10 7 7 10 10 10 7 7 10 10 10 7 7 10 10 10 7 7
Earth's multi-tribal sanctuary,
like any flexible multi-generational home,
like elastically resilient residents
of a nineteenth century
three-family brownstone,
or a centennial extended family farm,
positively grows gratitude
for HereNow integrity
of further co-operative covenanted potential ways
and means to restore Paradise peace intent
for all future healthy EarthTribe residents,
internally transposing self-awareness
as GreenSanctuaried regenerators
Producing more buoyantly democratic covenanted hope to thrive
with LeftBrain non-violent synergy
preferring RightBrain peace-filled, gracious EcoSanctuary.
Internal long-term happiness covenants,
like interior heart climates,
like healthy New Year internalized resolutions,
grow resilient enough to last a year,
or even a co-operative lifetime,
as flexibly needed flow-therapy
Back and forth in Time's sacred sanctuary of memory
releasing aggressive Win/Lose historical intentions
in favor of ElderRight internal synergy sanctuary
with YoungerLeft's externalizing everyday integrity,
Together wealthing healthy short-term Wins, contractually agreed
yet also intending to long-term Win global healthy sanctuary
with and for all
organically compliant green covenanted residents past
present
and future
happily divesting away from violent intent and communication
sometimes more silently felt
than exposed as a future need for empowering resilient peace
without over/under-building boundaries.
Universal GoldenRule covenants,
internalized through global DNA expressing balanced health
within Unitarian EcoGreen Sanctuaries
of resilient multi-generational robust wealth,
YangLeft multiculturally active co-operation
within YinRight WiseElder's sacred holistic preoccupations
grow most mutually hospitable
as an organically bicameral,
intentional GreenSanctuary.
Crying fully out of my heart
promising to keep all your law
calling to you my sovereign Lord
'I need to be saved' words to draw
In all of this your words I see
makes one get up before dawn
in your words alone I do hope
words of beauty like a smooth lawn
Early in the morning, I can see
all your revelation you have revealed
so to meditate on God's promise
what riches God's duly sealed
God is our judge in giving life
in God's love, I listen for His voice
these lawbreakers show their evil
rejecting your law they're full of noise
I feel your presence very near
believing your testimonies be so true
since early childhood, I've ever known
you've founded them from ever new
(This is my " Psalm 119 project" which I began to write a couple of years ago, so this is the nineteenth poem of twenty-two poems I've written over that time to cover all of Psalm 119.)
I stroll through the small resort town
at the southern end of Lake George,
William Henry rises above,
the famous colonial fort.
From the French & Indian days,
the original stood right here,
it didn’t last half a decade,
this one has stood seventy years.
Makes me wonder which of the forts
we’d call the ‘real’ William Henry,
the one that’s stood the text of time?
Or the one lost to history?
Not far off is the Bloody Pond,
where they say the water ran read
during the Battle of Lake George,
when ambush left so many dead.
It seems to be just a marsh now,
the cattails waving in the wind,
my mind digs up a ghoulish thought,
did all the bodies fill it in?
Nearby is the town’s paved bike path,
once the old colonial road,
where troops and supplies once flowed through,
now joggers and kids come and go.
Across the way imported sand
arcs around in a massive beach,
do they know bateaux landed there
delivering guns for the siege?
That some of their hulls still remain
rotting in the lake-bottom muck?
I’m sure some like the past like me,
but I can’t imagine it’s much.
The girls in tight bikinis
don’t think of the hell that once reigned
on the spot where they drink up sun,
and excited young children play.
The shops where they buy souvenirs,
once trenches zig-zagging the earth,
dug under fire by Frenchmen
trying to get guns to the works.
The central road where they drove in,
where the massacre did go down…
Do we drive over a mass grave
every time we come into town?
It’s not only these grim events
I see when I’m walking about,
a grand hotel once stood right here,
the old kind that really stood out.
Built in the nineteenth century,
lavish Victorian style,
broad porches looking on the lake
where folks could relax a while.
Now a modern hotel stands there,
lifeless square block, concrete and steel,
the first one destroyed the fire,
the kind of loss a town still feels…
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
The end of the year is drawing near
Home to our familes we will go
No more blinding white in surround
Saying cheerio to this Antarctic flow
It's late as we pass the seventh hour
The nineteenth of December now truly left behind
For after the holidays we'll return
Take our chances to see what there's to find
It's approximately twelve past eight
The drilling rigs on it's final bore
When we hear a shout from the derrick
It's more of panic, than we have ever heard before
The sensors have picked up our strike
It's metal we have struck so far down
In momentary pause we stand stunned
What can be buried so far underground
A silence captures this expanse
The sky turns a deep cobalt blue
A violent shaking, the ice breaking
What ever it is, it's massive that's breaking through
Thousands of years start to show face
Ancient ice from a long forgotten past
Detracts us from what we are witnessing
Looking up leaves us in total aghast
Something not of this world
Has erupted through earths glacial ice
Above us it starts to hover
Our eyes lured as if in awe suffice
We hear voices on our radios
Which leaves us in total astound
In various parts of the world
Giant spaceships rise from our grounds
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy-18.php
Wide Awake At Two Plus Hours After Midnight...
(actually, now at present time juiced
well nigh high noon same day)
On this January nineteenth
tooth thousand and nineteen
dogged by an earlier notion
searching soul to glean,
(while at Collegeville Diner)
above place previously wrought
poem hammered from this peon
expounded possibly seen,
asper belated birthday
outing now I mean
to expound upon nagging, yet keen
existential question, sans what purpose
validates yours truly within skien
of terrestrial webbed wide world,
no...no...no not
simply pocketing green
backs (banknotes, legal,
tender, money, et cetera), but now bean
older, and displeasing lee not so lean
when just a slip (pre) youth decades ago
yea, that would be
when I hapt tubby a teen
with nary a concern,
nope not even to preen
myself much to the dismay
of my late mother, nay
no idea why lackadaisical, illogical,
and antithetical bee hay
vee yore prevailed, but more to the point
rarely when young and naive did stray
thoughts besiege my mind,
that LX vintage sketchy,
shady, and seedy gray
area bothered concerning,
hounding, pestering and fill lay
mignon noggin ready toboggan
any price you say
for this staged coached blarney
finding this mortal questioning... ray
zing meaning, purpose,
and underlying importance, gestalt, design...
of life more so today
meaning since recent past
also taking stock of
accomplishments from way
back, and feeling stymied okay
at a loss to delineate
any rhyme or reason
to shout hip...hip hooray
quite the contrary, which following
admission might appear cray zee,
but aye decry barely
living capped off with oy vey!
In the nineteenth century—
the Devil was born.
And sympathizers
supported his name—
Zion.
When Zion was born,
he came with racism,
colonialism,
and a wicked spirit
of imperialism.
Zionism—
a force on this earth,
a political extremism,
an ideology rooted
in intolerance,
in hatred,
in the violent imposition
of belief—
seeking to destroy
fundamental rights
and the balance
of the world.
It manifests
as anti-democratic will,
rejecting order,
reshaping systems,
using force
to achieve
its ends.
Its drivers—
inequality,
exclusion,
and the shadow
of power
without restraint.
But the days draw near.
What is built
on violence
weakens.
The poison it spreads—
returns.
And consumes
its own source.
To those
who suffer—
the night is long,
but not endless.
For no force
stands forever.
And what rises
without justice—
will fall.
Wednesday, it was; Nineteenth, exactly if I must mention
Housewives, feeding kids and pets, were getting true tension
Eastward sky grew grey; impulsively, cattle rushed homewards
Nightingales, to sing of true love, tuned their trachea chords
Welcoming the moon and the stars on their valorous way
Habitats did bid goodbye to the scorching sunny day
Ethereal exuberance enhanced each environs
Naughty nocturnal nonpareils of April blow sirens
Wet with drizzles, weary winds wiped their whiskers on cool cloud
Howls of dogs, foxes, wolves, apes, and coyotes were heard aloud
Endless Rest promised the noxious sting of death has gone numb,
Nullifying negations, nature, notations new did hum
23 April 2023
Leo Tolstoy
He stands—among the tallest Names—
That Time has learned to say—
A Mountain robed in Mortal ink
Where Centuries still pray—
The Page becomes a Parliament
Of Souls that seek their way—
He ruled the Nineteenth Century’s heart
With Armies made of Thought—
Where Peace and War went hand in hand
And Love was dearly bought—
Where every Breath of Mortal choice
By Destiny was caught—
Anna walks the iron Thread
Between Desire and Law—
Resurrection lifts the Ash
That Guilt had turned to Straw—
And History kneels quietly
Before what Conscience saw—
In little Rooms of Narrow tales
His Judgment still appears—
Alyosha tends the hidden flame
That burns through all our Years—
And God, who waits beyond the bars,
Counts every human tear—
Few Voices press so hard on Life
And ask it—what it means—
He carved the Heart from Mortal clay
And showed us what we’ve been—
A Witness robed in Russia’s snow
Where every Soul is seen—
J-ust after the dusk disappears,
U-mbra fades into the cold wind;
L-onely evening has turned
I-nto a morning delight without
E-nd.
A-nother day is dawning,
N-ew rise of the sun starts;
N-ight shadows have passed by, letting the light warm our hearts.
P-leasant and beautiful view
O-f you is beyond compare;
S-econd month nineteenth day
T-wilight evades the birth affair.
I-mpressive aura and poise
G-ive me the reason to gaze;
O-utstanding picture before my eyes erases the mist and haze.
G-ood greetings of mine
E-xpress my warm wishes;
N-ever will I let the day pass,
I-'ll share the moment
O-f gladness.