Long Notes Poems
Long Notes Poems. Below are the most popular long Notes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Notes poems by poem length and keyword.
My daughter wrote a story for her class project.
It is about an imaginary voyage of a 13-year-old
with her family from Spain to America,
In the year 1673.
She used an excellent vibe to bring the effect of
A handwritten note in a diary.
The paper, soaked in the liquor of tea overnight,
looked exactly like an old page from a diary!
I was astonished to see the finished product.
“Marvelous!” I thought.
The laptop battery died today; I am tapping with
Words with the charger connected; It is tied down with its destiny.
There is good news, bad news, many news surfing
through the internet.
The story of one boy, killed
As he was a suspect as a terrorist….
A huge beep on the phone with an amber alert, active right now.
I am tapping with words with the charger connected.
Through all these, I need to reach somewhere, badly.
God, please grant me the strength to live for one more day,
Let me be alone in my bundles of pieces, notes which I love!
Through my poems of life, I would like to see a brighter day
Just like a prayer, through the wisdom of introspection, above!
Debussy Inspiration
I advanced from piano player to pianist
When I finally memorized Claire De Lune.
Since then I’ve migrated to a rhythm guitarist,
But I could never escape that flowing tune.
I played Debussy’s song so often without the sheets
That over time it evolved to something else.
A few different notes or off-rhythmic beats;
So that an expert would patently find it false.
I eventually learned to play more difficult songs:
Rachmaninoff’s Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini,
And many of Scott Joplin’s syncopated ragtime songs;
But Debussy’s Claire De Lune still remains a part of me.
20140528
Our eyes meet
in purple shadows
close to the sacred shrine
beneath a forest canopy
Footsteps cross the river
on bridges which aren't there
Mist shroud tall pine trees
a grey owl hoots behind
the wooden bench of broken promises
Roses blossom in a hopeful whisper
of a birthing petal without a thorn
The heart beats slowly
to the last sound of music
Leaves turn yellow in tarnished dreams
And tomorrow?
tomorrow i do not know you
tomorrow we would be strangers
And tomorrow
our dancing memories will all be gone.
Charma
This isn't a recent poem,It is something i scribbled in notes,and decided to adjust and share now :)thanks.
Why does this light inside scare me?
I'll lock it down tight in the hopes to spare me
the separation.
I want to live from a higher vibration,
revelation and wonder,
but fear of isolation drags me under,
steals my thunder and dims the glow.
All this creation and nothing to show.
All those notes played just for the wind,
those shapes that stayed locked in my mind,
those words stuck between pages on bookshelves in sheds
or lost between faces so stuck in my head,
good as dead and going nowhere.
There's magic when you learn how to share,
when you don't care,
lay yourself bare and trust.
Tear down your walls and scream if you must
but scream it true
from the depths of what it means to be you,
step out from the queue and show it.
They can't do what you do and they know it
and they'll stop for a moment without even knowing
why they're touched so much by this love that you're showing.
Growing by giving, living by sharing,
loving by trusting and not caring
what the others may say.
Thoughts of this fade away when you just play
unafraid and unaware
of some deep recognition in their stare
of this shape, hitherto unseen
of a heart now open,
a dream within a dream.
The Lullaby of the Crescent Moon
The crescent moon that dances ‘cross the sky
is shining softly through my window pane,
and smiling gently from his perch on high
while humming tender notes of love’s refrain.
The magic of this bright celestial orb
is tempting passions of this mortal man,
but thoughts of her are harder to absorb
while longing tender touches of her hand.
Alone I’m sitting in my rocking chair
as darkness fills the corners of my mind;
I’m lost in tender thoughts of one so fair,
and reaching for the dreams I long to find.
I wonder if she’s gazing at this moon,
and if she too can hear his tender tune.
September 7, 2020
~Beautiful Springtime~
(Trolaan)
Beautiful first spring day
Bountiful sun then may rain
Be happy spring comes after winter gray
Bright sunshine glows like golden grain
Enticing spring is here again at last
Enchanting sights of so much beauty and renewal
Every ray of sun illuminates everything so fast
Entire sky is now so blue like a precious jewel
Now new and wonderful changes after winter and snow
Nurturing beauty of spring is such a sight
Nosegays and roses buds see them all grow
Nice time to relax and enjoy the spring night
On and on my Master has created spring for us all
Orchids,roses,tulips and so many beautiful things to enjoy
Ocean and mountains during spring season stand tall
Outside there's a wonderful weather for all girls and boys.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2012
April.17.2016
~Authors Notes:
The "Trolaan" is a poetry style created by Valerie Peterson Brown.
6/27/17
What do all the relics mean?
Was the creation of hell from dreams?
Yes, well it seems
There are far too many expressing jealousies
Therefore manifesting destinies
Those on a power trip
Usually turn sour quick
Once they are exposed as counterfeit
And when you voucher it
I started to swim deeper
Coming face to face with the grim reaper
Feeling like Jason Statham
Causing havoc and mayhem
When **** hits the fan, I don't play and
Am a straight sav (savage) turned into a caveman
All across familiar and strange lands
Regardless of if we do or don't have the same plans
Potholes showing up even after the work from a recent road crew
I eventually broke loose
After arduous training, eating produce
And drinking 100 percent ratio juice
Turned into super saiyan goku
Can never have enough c-notes
On land and near the seacoast
By way of foot, car, train or speedboats
Nothings changed
This world (planet) is something strange
Regardless of if you hear me
Clearly
Everybody has their own theory
And a person that they look(ed) at dearly or sincerely
The trends come and go yearly
And weather occasionally changes fiercely
Don't be such a pain
Especially when you've got so much to gain
Open up your brain
It's not just a game
Always coming in with red eyes
Eleven out of ten times
These fools are actors
Got it twisted and backwards
Because they think they got all the answers
Poet’s notes: this poem was written for this week’s poetry challenge: Write a poem with exactly seven lines.)
water rises in the clear bowl, a small cosmos gathering itself.
bubbles bloom like breath returning to a long-quiet body.
copper and blue tiles hold the warmth of forgotten mornings.
on the sill, bottles keep vigil — lotions, perfumes, small reliquaries of touch.
the faucet’s flow feels ancient, a quiet force older than ache.
the sky beyond the glass window moves in pale currents, clouds drifting close to the sill,
and I lean into the moment, letting the water’s rise settle something unnamed.
~Breathless~
( The American Cinquain Style )
You are
So beautiful to me
In your eyes I see love
Moon, stars, in the warmth of your love
I'm breathless.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2016
March.13.2017
“Kindness is a language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see.”
- Mark Twain-
~ Author's Notes:
The "American Cinquain " is a poetry style created in 2010, by Dorian Petersen Potter, aka ladydp2000.
My Cinquain version( The American Cinquain Style) goes by word counting, and not by syllable counting)
~ Christmas Is Approaching ~
(Pantoum)
Christmas is approaching
Us so fast by now
There's rejoicing more cheer
Hearts in Christmas glow
Up so fast by now
Child Jesus will be born
Hearts in Christmas glow
All with His love trueborn
Child Jesus will be born
He brings only peace, love
All with His love trueborn
With good tidings from 'bove
Christmas nearly here
There's rejoicing more cheer
For He's the reason
Christmas is approaching.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2011
December.21.2017
-“Kindness is a language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see.”
- Mark Twain -
~Author's Notes:
The " Pantoum" is a French poetry form or style.