Long No rhyme Poems
Long No rhyme Poems. Below are the most popular long No rhyme by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long No rhyme poems by poem length and keyword.
All things were perfect and there was no sin to be found
It's His Glory we reflect but in His Love man's not bound
He gave each their own free will to choose as they see fit
And so today it is still, though so few are willing to admit
And so Lucifer had arose once one of God's Highest Angels
All being in what he chose for which there was no rhyme
Nearly a third also departed heading right down to earth
Setting havoc on every course charted, beginning at birth
Mankind was a hopeless case sealing every single ones' fate
Ah, but then a Father's Grace able to wipe clean our slate
Sending His Only Begotten Son to pay for the entire price
A battle only He could have won, for no other would suffice
But now you have a choice for you can chose to go it alone
Or as He has said You could Rejoice in all of His Glory shone
Make not the devil's very mistake as he pulls you by his side
The Name Jesus makes Him quake as for your sins, Jesus died
Each poem must have a purpose;
Each verb, each certain noun, fawning adjective,
needs a place, a form, a hole, to fit.
Purple is not a word for a poem, it has no place.
"No rhyme?" say cat/rat/bat,
"Outrageous" say sebaceous/herbaceous.
So purple is resigned to prose.
Purple must have a partner, a pair, a comrade
To be worthy in the poem.
Everyword must be accounted for.
"But oh" says Purple, alone, "I am not alone."
Look, see my face adorning royalty.
See my majesty, my set-apart/set-aboveness.
There is no one like me, and I am enough.
Cat/bat/rat squirms at his feet.
Form:
Persian Haiku 4.
Persian Haiku 4.
I cried with the night.
When the nightingale stopped singing,
My poor umbrella!
The moon's reflection,
Loneliness is elegant.
On a lonesome pond.
Life makes me too old.
Death humiliates my life.
I'm glad there is love.
When I come, you'll leave.
Moonlight dims, and autumn grieves.
I'm so so naive.
Iron turns to rust,
My body will burst into dust,
Trust the dust, I must.
Who spilled my bottle?
The Inebriated ground!
Who is the drunken?
What is half of us?
Nowhere to be found in this;
It's not me or you.
Like the sun, I shine,
Like the moonlight, I promise.
To create more love.
12/11/18 Haloo
Note: The form I called Persian Haiku is a form of poetry in Persian literature called “Segani” or “triangular.” They must be in three lines, but not necessarily 5-7-5 syllables, but unlike Haiku, the last line of Segani must have a “Mental Punctuation or mental blowout.” Segani has three major branches: Classic, Nimaa’i (related to the poet Nima Yooshij), and Sepeed (means white). Each has many different forms with and without Rhyme. I combined the rules of Japanese Haiku with 5-7-5 Syllables plus the” Segani” and” Sepeed” with no rhyme.
Snow showers earlier today December 9th, 2020 yielded negligible accumulation
Though anyone who saw
and/or watched local news would be more wise
the brief flurry of crystalline precipitation
came as a complete surprise,
cuz yours truly prefers
getting strangled courtesy neckties
versus being given spoiler alert
subsequently forced to give reciprocal highfives.
I generally skirt tracking the weather,
nevertheless the missus would pantomime,
née blurts out with glee
meteorological conditions occurring here
out the skies above second Street
within Schwenksville, Pennsylvania.
No rhyme nor reason prevails
necessitating yours truly to hear and/or see
what mother nature doth hold in store
concerning (Delaware, Chester,
and Montgomery) tri county locale
sometimes loosely referred to
as comprising Delaware Valley
a geographical area coterminous with
metropolitan statistical area (MSA)
and broader combined statistical area (CSA),
and composed of counties located in
Southeastern Pennsylvania, South Jersey,
Delaware, and the Eastern Shore of Maryland.
As a lifetime resident - 19473 zip code
regarding aforementioned place name,
I can ofttimes intimate
how the forecast will bode
especially if adequate hours spent outdoors,
more so when yours truly
lived at 3224 Level Road
which less likely as ole man winter
huffs and puffs with braggadocio
rarely ripping, riffing, and riding
piggyback with nor'easter.
Interestingly enough global warming
affected dramatic climate change
during course of mine lifetime,
where Currier and Ives rural
linkedin with good n plenti grange,
where agrarian lifestyle might seem strange
to urban outfitters constituting population.
Truth be told, I fondly remember those days of yore
when countless unbroken acres of greenery
whereat in Arcola a cider mill vestige
of American/British Revolutionary War
perhaps e'en centuries before frequented by troubadour
named Shakespeare, quite sad
to narrate hundreds of years postwar
(meaning that brouhaha incorporating
Declaration of Independence)
long since derelict and sold
possibly by family with surname Knorr,
(methinks his first name Ignoramus nickname Ig)
who strongly exhibited demeanor of Eeyore.
I do not hear you with my brain
which cannot kick in
unless my heart jumpstarts her
and my heart is not hearing you
Brain does not comprehend until the soul yells “yes”
this happens infrequently.
there is no rhyme or method to it.
it is not a planned event.
I can read two hundred poems
without hearing you because Brain is sleeping.
dreaming of other worlds, imagining her next poem
then BAM!
Someone's words cause my soul to do a wild Watusi dance.
suddenly the heart and the mind tango.
we shimmer, shake and slide, brain, mind and soul.
we finally hear you and see you clearly.
I do not need a cup of tea.
I do not need you're sympathy.
I don't need you to be obtuse.
I just need a cup of Seuss.
The nib, the nub the flub a dub.
A ring of truth in the dirty tub.
How many squubbles can it squish?
How many bubbles can it swish?
The Freckle Heckle Farkle Foos.
Escaped the zoo and now is loose.
They've contacted inspecter Kleuss.
And asked for help from Dr. Seuss.
There seems to be no rhyme or reason
For there seems to be no crime or treason.
But when the slime leaks from the sneez'n.
Sadly, it's just that time of season.
So when your brain goes down the drain.
And there seems that there's just no refrain.
Just blow your nose to ease the pain.
But not your mind so that you stay sane.
Note: It seems I am up to my old ignorant bliss and didn't read what I shouldn't miss. So this won't be entered in the contest. So I offer it now just for jest. :)
Written April 10, 2017
Before you are carried away
With leaves that come tumbling down,
Before you succumb
To the crumbling of the hour,
I will give you a love
Like no other love you have known.
For that which can never be stolen,
Time will devour.
We measure our love by the lifetime
A thimbleful only of sky.
To the mountains, and oceans, and stars
Just a moment that passes by.
Time brings a death to each season
We think that to measure, we're clever.
It follows no rhyme or reason,
While love embraces forever.
A butterfly lives but a moment
Yet it knows that love grows within,
It turns moments of life into hours
Through the love it reveals on its skin
So love with the love that each butterfly brings
For a lifetime, a moment, or hour
And live to reveal the song your love sings
Like the butterfly kissing the flower.
Woke up Sunday morning
put on my Sunday best
'cause I didn’t want to go
and look different from the rest
when the meeting was over
was among the first to go
made a beeline home
put on some comfy clothes
Every weekday I work
must wear a suit and tie
feels so darn confining
it makes me wanna cry
by the time my shift is over
tell you goodness knows
can’t wait to get on home
put on some comfy clothes
Comfy clothes are great
doesn’t matter what the season
just can’t quite explain it
there is no rhyme or reason
but if you feel uptight
don’t know which way to go
things will get a little better
you put on some comfy clothes
What looked above like solid ground
was chosen as a building site.
A sinkhole brought the building down
It fell as one decayed by blight.
Likewise, in life, sinkholes appear
and wreck the plans that we have laid
destroying that which we hold dear
and causing our daydreams to fade.
It could be news about a spouse
caught in a secret love affair
that does love’s flaming fire dowse
and proves to be your future’s snare.
A disease found in routine tests
that threatens life with certain death
and sows distress within your breast
fostering fear with every breath.
The wealth lost when the market crashed
turning stock gains to stinging pain
life’s hope of ease, suddenly dashed
the victim of a sinkhole vein.
A career-ending firing
shaking the lifestyle you have built,
When Wall Street is not hiring,
This sinkhole makes your good life tilt.
Life’s sinkholes suddenly appear
with no rhyme and without reason
So, be prepared, keep your mind clear
prepped to live in every season.
To survive life’s scary sinkholes
you must build on solid bedrock.
Choose Jesus Christ, the only sure link
In the sinkhole He’ll be your rock.
This song I hear is not my song.
The melody is all wrong.
Sure, good things are done
Solid and strong.
But there is no glow,
No blessed gong.
The trouble is we walk through life without rhyme
Trying to create one, through time,
And our definitive dispatch of chords and strings
Are set aside so often,
So something else sings.
Yet nothing is ever entirely lost,
All songs being one (I tell myself, at least,
Through the shuddering whispers of the night,
Through the breathe between each Broadway
Beat, shoe by shoe, eyes by eyes).
But ache and desire burn like licking flames
Above the mass of sound that beg and peel against your ears
And all you can think to think, is the sweetness of your own
Sound. The sound of your song.
And how they would love to hear it
Poured out all wrong and strong and perfect.
Perfect like you and all else,
Like hawks and leaves.
Like hands and knees.
Hold your note as you hold your heart.
Leave all bare, set nothing apart.
Sing your song. And sing it strong.
And end with no rhyme at all.