Long Not a poem Poems
Long Not a poem Poems. Below are the most popular long Not a poem by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Not a poem poems by poem length and keyword.
The black earth just below the moss.
It's headiness held down.
On top a carpet green and soft
The comfort of a crown.
To walk is just a hop of heart
A bounce a joy away.
To feel it is to just relax
A comfort I'm to play.
A passing look, a fervent scene.
A tree-line standing tall.
Upon a hill; a mound of earth
A feeling that I call.
The Northern Star above the frost
to guide my lazy eye.
Where home is found and I am part
of never ending sky.
A walk between a ledge of trees
My compass fresh Pine air.
To come out in a swamp of dew
Reflections that I care.
My home a little cabin further.
Walls of racked up logs.
Out front a hound dog tied to feed
an appetite of hogs.
A smoke puff from a chimney top
A signal someone's home.
A maiden in an evening gown
A wife if not a poem.
My life in Northern Canada
has brand me with it's scent.
For those above it's parallel
No time's been better spent.
Hello friends and future friends. I hope my
choice of my poetic form is totally absurd.
I don't even know what an Epithalamium is;
so if you are looking for this form, I'm sorry
to disappoint. I haven't posted in awhile, and
perhaps it may be a bit instead of me just
blurting out my mind through my mouth.
I just got vack from a recent trip to
Cartagena, Colombia and have been
writing a collection.
I am going to title it "poems from a broard";
the broad in this case is mi Musa Melissa.
(Maureen, Melissa said you are beautiful
and kept saying "weeeeee" [your last comment]
Presently I am trying to organize poems that
I wrote on my trip as well as a lot written in the
airport waiting to reluctantly leave Cartagena.
Please por favor keep in mind that I would like
to present this as if a book; but know only 10
poems for a period of 24 hours.; so hang in
there with me and I will start to share.
Thanks to all the folks I have met here,
and the folks I hope to meet. Blessings!!!
This poem was a forest fire; it burned me up as I read it
I was supposedly the writer.
But was I?
Voices inside me are laughing, taking credit, kicking me to the curb.
My next poem is a blizzard.
She whirls me into a whiteness.
This turns into marshmallow crème.
I am quiet for a second,
Landing in a drift, head first, but there is no coolness.
Snow without coldness is not a poem at all.
It’s a fake poem like fake news.
I believe it best to give up now.
Maybe I am no poet at all but a prancing pony
Two steeds prance up. Dragging Cinderella’s coach.
Do not use Cinderella! My muse says meanly.
I stick out my tongue.
Cinderella, Cinderella, Cinderella.
I am easily distracted when imagination is giving me instruction.
A poem is not a poem if it does not
have death on its mind. The joyful and uplifting
is for the witnessing of summits
yet behind that revelation,
a hushed spirit walks to the gravesite.
The light and bouncing sparrow
nests under the somber hood of the ebon crow.
Words grow from the ecstatic pain of creation,
they sing of love and splendor,
but let the drowned sailor have his walk-on part.
If you write of eternal things, then give death its due,
for one must be the garb for the other.
God in Her fortress of infinite love
let’s grim death stalk even the brightest muse,
She allows the mad fancy of romantic love
a place to die and be reborn again.
Then when a sweet poem hints also of death
it will tell of a greater knowing of love and life,
and not be just some piece of a lesser truth.
There are stretch marks for every delivered line.
Skin keeps strumming until it runs out of sweat,
incipient and membranous they arrive
through a mutual tension. On their own
words in the woods unseen,
but when pushed through a primal viscera,
they slip through wet and new.
You try to make them civilized and grown.
you know that eyes are upon you.
Birthing’s a messy affair
something you do behind swollen eyes,
a stress disorder that defies latex
or the collective humming of incubators.
Then you look down and everyone’s looking
it’s not a poem, it is a configuration
of arrhythmic pulses,
meanwhile you swaddle an indigenous form
native to a ‘no man’s land.’
You hope someone will read it to the end,
but it’s not the end, it’s another beginning.
From Pop Idol to American Idol, the Journey Across the Pond was Worth the Trip.
From the X Factor, Britain’s Got Talent to AGT, the Road has been long and Ever Winding.
Though while walking the streets of Lambeth, and playing in the school yard in Elstree seems like a distant Fond Memory.
You Spent long days at Radlett and later developed a keen intellect at Dover College.
From EMI to Fanfare Records you further developed your Musical Genius and Style at BMG and S Records.
Though I think that the role which will encapsulate the Rest of Your Life, and be Most Fulfilling came to Fruition on February 14, in 2014 with the birth of Your Son Eric.
I Read that you Broke your back, which I can only imagine is very painful.
I know that this is not a Poem, or very Artistic, but I wanted to write to say as a Music and Talent Fan, Thank you.
I Wish for you God’s Richest blessing in the future.
May his Grace, Love, Peace and Understanding abide with You Always.
God Bless,
Sincerely
One of Many Fans
Author Paul Cumberbatch ( September 2nd, 2020)
Tonight, I sit with my
usual glass of wine,
and I'm counting down the days
when the new year strikes,
and we can finally start anew.
I've thought and agonized
my thoughts to the point
of needing clarity.
Yet, clarity is so difficult to find
in a sea of mess.
This is not a perfect poem-
it's more like a ramble of thoughts.
I sit here with my new candle,
I got for Christmas,
yogurt covered pretzels,
my twinkle lights to remind me;
that there is joy
even in the darkest days.
This poem goes to you.
The one I think about most often;
who pulled me out of sin,
and darkness-
who made me believe that love
actually, does exist
if you just close your eyes
and count to three or maybe even five.
The who you made me realize,
I needed to stop giving myself
to men who didn't care about me
the you who made me think twice
about what I say,
to make sure if I say anything I say
it comes from kindness,
and a place of love.
I think of you and our passing times,
our light that we have.
I will always love you,
because of how you made me feel-
like anything is possible,
when you're done with sin;
and the world fades into nothing
the light that stands still
is yours, and it always has been.
If you ever read this.
Know you're not too late.
This isn't a poem it's a confession.
Always.
and forever.
Since you passed away
we miss you more each and every day
you helped us through the good times and through the bad
the best friend any one could possibly of ever had
you stood by us through thick and thin
no matter what we wanted to do
we may forget many things in our life time
but dearest dad we wont ever forget you.
my dad was my best friend, His faith kept him strong, Just like Job whatever the world threw
at him he bounced back even stronger than before, and although this is not a poem of
faith, my dad in his own way showed me a glipms of our father in Heaven the true loving
father of us all, even when we make mistakes he will still there no matter what he is waiting
for us all. It's never too late to come home to the Lord he has his arms open wide to
welcome you.
I see words prancing out of my brain at three a.m.
I try to get them to stop, but they laugh in a maniacal way,
Choosing to wake me up,
Sometimes keeping me tired all day
While I walk through my job
In a zombie-like state
Hoping the boss will not notice.
Luckily, she has a new baby. I am the least of her worries.
At four o'clock I begin to panic. I have promised myself
to write ten poems a day, and I have written none.
Not a poem.
Not a phrase.
Not a saying.
Not a sentence.
Not a word.
Not a letter.
I stare at a blank page, seeing an insurmountable task.
Seeing my own failure.
That is what I see
For about six seconds,
Then Trixie, my muse grabs a pen and begins
To write.
I watch, amazed, as she fills up page after page,
without any help from me.
Later I can read about half of it.
I will remember you….
The laughs we used to share.
The tears we cried together….
The ways you would show me you care.
I will remember your love….
The way you would kiss me at night….
The way you’d hold me in your arms,
Such a heartwarming delight.
I will remember your touch….
How I miss it oh so much….
I will remember you.
I will never forget our first date.
How we both showed up thirty minutes late.
How we laughed that night for an entire hour.
I felt the power of your love, like a warm shower.
I will remember the day you ran to me in tears.
The happiness we’ve shared throughout the years.
The moments where we both ran wild.
I will remember when you gave me my first child.
Do not think this is written to make you cry….
I don’t intend to do so, but I must say goodbye.
My time had ended on this earth….
I have a new place to roam.
I stand at Heaven’s eternal gates,
And can hear God saying “Welcome home.”
This is not a poem to emotionally dismember you….
These are words from a heart that not only loves you….
They are words from a heart who is strongly saying….
I will remember you.