Long Norm Poems
Long Norm Poems. Below are the most popular long Norm by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Norm poems by poem length and keyword.
The breeze it carries many things whispered willow winds
Pollinated particles of dust where new life can begin
A breeze of leaves departing from life on dead branches
The fresh smell of all the nights in the hidden hills of ranches
Clouds and storms so violently cause chaos and destruction
To light rains of springtime norm creating a bloom production
From a kitchen window it warns of a good home cooked meal
A child's scream as the kite he holds reels, & reels, & reels
From memories that reminds you of the night of a first kiss
And soft odor of your love it just doesn't get better than this
Bmdavey@06/223
Sweet foods can fling
Urge that now stings
Grief can speak plain
Ailment that strains
Reach for a way
Yield to harsh stay
Dreary this lot
Indulge sad thought
Appeal to form
Bloom in odd norm
Expose the threat
Trust in mindset
Treat each new day
Expect bold sway
Set in sure time
Meet broken rhymes
Express your pain
Live harsh restraint
Love yourself first
Indulge vain thirst
Touch what must be
Use cheer to see
So much lays waste
Note style's sweet haste
Opt mime and quest
Work out your best
Allow time space
Live well your face
Impress your heart
Groom mind with art
Now hurl sweet rhymes
Seed craft's sure time
Feel that sad line
Ask help divine
Truth and trust steer
Expect help here
Leon Enriquez
27 February 2015
Singapore
Written: January 22, 2026 For Gregory Richard Barden's Syncopated Cinqopet Poetry Contest
___________________
By nightfall, gentle winds all blow,
The bright stars soar with cheerful flow.
The dreaming world at last does glow,
Soft pulses in silence wait.
The crave curbed, not fully sate.
Beneath the thin sky, the pond lies,
Where wispy reeds in languor size.
Below the waves, soft songs arise,
Lands where all its grace does dwell.
Where bliss drifts through silent swells.
An echoing palimpsest drifts.
As fancied rhythms weave all their gifts,
And cloud and clod do gently shift.
In nexus threads - web is spun.
Day gives way to setting sun.
The clangor fades to whispers mild,
A spell that calms the troubled mind.
No cure stands firm; balm reconciled,
Its core is still held through time.
In sighs, longing turns sublime.
Through hubris, catharsis takes form,
A rakish truth the tongue won’t norm.
From day is born, the rising storm,
Quintessence of time makes chime.
A bell tolls through wretched time
Tag: Elysium
It was a dawn amongst amazing dawns
With a clear and sparkling blinding light
Starting a day of most amazing prospects
When everything seemed to be just right
The clock struck a definitive thirteen
I counted each measured chime
Blinked in surprise at their number
Very nearly missed that split in time
When all those things possible
Became as a matter of fact
All those things probable
As the split began to act
So the old wall cuckoo clock
I always regarded as sedate
Danced with the steaming kettle
As though in prearranged date
The freezer in the kitchen corner
Rattled out a mean drum roll
And the cooker and the washer
Duetted in a session of soul
The birds were flying backwards
As I could oh so plainly see
Through the transparent kitchen wall
That stood there in front of me
There were Dragons blazing trails
Across a gleaming silver sky
One certainly gave a wink to me
As she looped and rolled in her flyby
There were comets dancing madrigals
With a bland but beaming yellow sun
And it seemed a creation of creations
Had started on its alternative run
Then the clock struck again
Just to twelve and with a loud crack
Time remerged with time with time
And the old world came flooding back
And what had started out to be
A very special and promising day
Reverted backed to its norm
And that world seemed somewhat grey
Weaving shade, nuance, deft subtle plots,
Leaving wry joke, ink commas, dots
dreams on script unfold, imbued with life,
schemes and clued-in darting figures now rife.
Taunting twist and turn in tale, pivot point,
teasing lavish scene, a buttressed hinged-joint,
matters key, core, glib, lax in broad domain,
scatters glee, sound hint, deep echo’s gold chain
Display onstage rapt passion swept a coup,
convey snap gemstone verse devoid of cue,
author duty bound might accent focus,
daughter birthing play has heart light locus.
Rounds of earnest clapping greet bold set piece,
grounds for earthquake valour a bright life lease,
bowing to staunch flock who treasure art form,
wowing maestro coterie, vast novel norm
Pay heed to joy,
Joy that sets free,
Free will that toys,
Toys just to see.
Hurl your fine chimes,
Chimes that lines wear,
Wear to hold rhymes,
Rhymes that thought bears.
String words that live,
Live with fond taste,
Taste sounds time gives,
Gives to curb haste.
Hear waves of change,
Change that speak brief,
Brief in swift range,
Range in sad grief.
String sense that speaks,
Speaks of the truth,
Truth in calm peaks,
Peaks that show proof.
Firm your calm poise,
Poise that holds cheer,
Cheer in sweet voice,
Voice as choice steers.
Be willing now,
Now to know grace,
Grace that shows how,
How to cast space.
Look for the signs,
Signs that groom joy,
Joy that aligns
Aligns clear ploys.
Words come from thought,
Thought beyond form,
Form beyond plot,
Plot beyond norm.
Leon Enriquez
08 October 2014
Singapore
I walked to the backyard of my childhood home, and was surprised with a gorgeous garden. No cinder pile, no tire swing, no cottonwood trees, no tree house, no dirty lumber, and no shed. No proof we had ever been here.
A gloriously beautiful weeping almond tree held me spellbound, causing a myriad of emotions in me. This is what our backyard could have been, but never was. A man in overalls waved me over.
I explained who I was, and asked permission to look around. He did not recognize my name, So I tried the names of every neighbor I remembered, and I remembered them all. My child’s heart smiled as I remembered spying on them for hours from my tree house perch.
I remembered the huts we built, digging to China in the ditch, and so many other terrific adventures. I asked permission to walk around and he nodded his head, hospitality continued to be the norm here.
Was anything left of us? The warm sun loved me, as I walked, looking for any sign that we had ever lived in our family's homestead. Three generations of living here, and what had we left? At last, I discovered a solitary purple violet by our oak tree; it smiled, remembering me.
I used to be into politics,
I would shout loud, and chant, and march,
believed we could change everything
if only we could be in charge.
Get new blood into hallowed halls,
the old paradigms we’d wreck,
but neither me nor anyone
could foresee what would happen next.
See a senator from Ohio
got thrown clear off a speed-boat,
before anyone could get to him
he’d drowned in the water below.
He had just begun his first term,
and had served for only a year,
but when a new election was called
the strangest of things did appear…
The senator’s ghost, sat at his desk,
shimmery, but still clear as day,
through the stunned expressions of shock
the senator had this to say:
“Did you think I would give this up?
My campaign cost forty million,
you think death would keep me from this?
Heck no! I will finish out my run.
“Besides, where is it ever said
in that great document of ours
that a ghost can’t serve constituents?”
The truth of this had us alarmed.
So we turned to the court system
to try and clear up this whole mess,
they scoured the Constitution,
then admitted with much duress
that no power had government
to keep spirits from taking their pace,
if the citizens voted for him
then he was free to participate.
This ruling opened up flood gates,
the ultimate incumbency,
the pols were all so power-mad
that they never left this Earthly scene.
One-by-one they would all die off,
then reappear as a ghostly form,
to be elected back to their seat,
and before long this was the norm.
And now, thirty years afterwards,
a tipping-point has been reached,
Ectoplasmic-Americans
now hold enough seats to impeach!
Advisors now say to hopefuls
you don’t have a chance until you’re dead,
except if there’s a haunting scandal,
then maybe you’ll get elected.
Needless to say the youth turnout
has plummeted all across the land,
and at rallies the pols no longer
even attempt to shake your hands.
Everyone can see the future,
it looks exactly like today,
same names, same faces, and same lies,
but them wasn’t it always this way?
Though if they’re all remaining here,
not going to the afterlife,
then Heaven has no politicians…
It really will be a paradise!
The sudden eighties music craze
had gone beyond the norm
the local supermarket
was swept along by the storm
as more and more of the shoppers
joined in with the revival
filling up on nostalgia
from t-shirts to CDs and vinyl
Reaping the customer whirlwind
for Boy George and Eurythmics tracks
some smart Alec from head office
said “This is no time to Relax!”
the mullet headed store manager
he looked a manic Midge Ure
a sarcastic lad on the tannoy
said “Sorry, but we’ve got no Cure”
Over at customer services
I said a mistake’s being made
“The seventies had John Lennon
Bob Marley, T. Rex, Slade!”
the guy claimed to be sympathetic
towards my point of view
then asked me to go on a website
and give him a Five Star review
A wise woman sat at the checkout
smiled to me as she said
“When this fad blows over
they’ll still want milk and bread”
so the moral to this story
is one of wisdom not sadness
that everyone’s entitled to
their little bit of Madness.
Any and all Men,
if you are within sight of this poem
or the sound of my voice.
When you get home tonight, please be polite.
It is not my intention to start a fight.
But ask your lover based on your sexual
performance to date.
what grade from an A to F do you rate?
Making the grade
For some men, getting laid is already hard.
But what if ladies, men had to show a report card.
Let’s say the Law requires any man you meet,
for the first time.
Married or single, deaf dumb and blind.
Must show you his report card.
How many would have an A.
How many would you send away.
Most men if you ask them think they’re at least a B.
So, to me it is plain to see,
from cheerleader to truck driver most if not all women,
are always an A+
Not just their cup sizes or plus sizes.
Not talking about Big Beautiful women,
the one's with more cushion for the pushing. (I like them too.)
Not talking about the tall and sexy
Amazon's with more butt than Breast.
(The one's you like to watch undress)
I'm talking about women who make love.
Women who can perform above and beyond the norm.
Women you want to be stuck with in a snow storm.
Like they graduated from the Sex education academy.
But no! This is... about men, men with a in God we trust A+
A man's ability to keep a woman happy
will reflect on his report card.
It can't be that hard, but in case it is.
It would be against the law for men to trade,
fake or falsify their report cards.
This is breaking the golden rule.
If caught he will be sent back to
Sex Education school.