Long Nouns Poems
Long Nouns Poems. Below are the most popular long Nouns by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Nouns poems by poem length and keyword.
Poetry has left me again
I’ve bled the hills and trees for words
I’ve searched for verbs in the hours
When someone fills the emptiness
I will have no need for pronouns
No talk or fragments fulfills you
I woke frenzied in the morning
Put on headphones to muzzle thoughts
Anything but to hear your silence
When coffers are empty of nouns
I scrape the bottom of the barrel
Hoping for slick prepositions
You goad me to write an opus
To paint my vain adjectives true
To color not wanting replies
Resurrect wordly as Jesus did
Real as adverbs without fullness
To ascend to servers in glory
Craft a mind razor-sharp each day
Cutting through pronoun’s bull
Swinging conjunctions as swords
This poem has hemorrhaged me
I’ve bled for you till nothing’s left
Grammar paler with my emptiness
Careless of my prideful sharpening
Decimating mourning subjects
Fill me when objects go empty
*** Ecclesiastes 1:2
'Vanity of vanities, says the Preacher, vanity of vanities! All is vanity.'
It sometimes amazes me how a seed of inspiration is translated into poetic
composition...............
Words bubbling
like molten lava
and flowing down a
mountain of creativity.
Ideas flashing into
consciousness, like
comets in the night sky,
begging for durability.
Imagination simmering
in a cauldron of creation,
par-boiled, and waiting
patiently for deliverance.
Verbs verbalised.
Nouns nurtured.
Similes simpatico.
Metaphors metathetical -
all awaiting translation
into metrical form:-
be it iambic verse, rhyme
or sultry sonnet.
An onslaught of inspiration
clambering for attention.
Poetic invention born of
imaginative progression.
Wondrous words!
Artistic expression.
Scintillating syntax.
A palette of calligraphy ....
Words bubbled down
my mountain of creativity.
I have survived the
onslaught of fecundity.
Creation created.
Imagination captured.
Ideas apprehended.
Job done!
Jolt of inspiration
A person wanted to be a POET
But didn’t know where to start nor how to show it
Words starting popping into the POETS head
Words becoming sentences
Showcasing the instances
Poet to be felt inspired
Didn’t want to tire
Discovery was desired
Words open up
Distance being Close
Farness wasn’t found
Alpha Nouns and Pronouns
A true Poet in the making blooming
Word flow
Couldn’t let go
The Poet saw purpose direct
His eyes showed obvious
Word mount
Like a watery fount
Theory and Understanding
Wisdom through experience
A Poet to be had became
The Poet did see
One must test the waters and try, but requires effort
Every commitment needs determined
This is how a Poet is acknowledged
The focus up close
Discouraged by most
Surprise, Surprise
The Poet learned the concept of realize
The Poet Within.
Do I wanna publish? Let me think this through...
I only wanna publish, if my work means something to you
I only wanna publish, if my writing like thunder strikes you with truth
And I only wanna publish, if my work ends up being sentimental to you
I don't wanna publish, 'cause my writing still causes me tears
I don't wanna publish, 'cause inking ose pages are my open heart, thoughts, & fears
My writing is like a diary - it tends to set me free
They are without a doubt, my emotions and pain that these pages bleed
I don't wanna publish, for greed, fame, fortune, riches, virgins, control, or power
All my tears, blood, sweat, experiences, hurt, and my life has been super sour
I'm brutally blunt and it will trigger - and most people can't handle that
My writing can reflect bullying - especially in those years I was unnecessarily fat
There's domestic violence, sex, hate, and an extremely naughty sailor's mouth
There's writing about my drug use and homelessness - without a f--king couch
There's poetry about love, life, suicide, and especially on death
There's solitude and sedation, narcotics, and those bad memories I've kept
There's poetry about addiction, homosexuality, and a whole bunch on suicide
There's a bunch of poems on true murders - where a lot of mine have died
My writing is not for the weak, immature, or faint-hearted
There's lots of poetry on love - how it ended and when it started
A lot of my priceless energy I've spent on my rhymes and my words
Utilizing an enormous vocabulary, on nouns, adjectives, and verbs
There's short-stories & non-fiction about my witchcraft path
And on those pages with colors of ink pens - illicits a hellspawn of wrath
There's rage in those pages - trapped in cages
There's rape, hurt, blood, wishes, and infinite tears
Do I wanna publish my work? Yes; I heard - but my answer right now is I don't know
considering there's 15 years of my entire life written in wickedly defensive words...
The clanking sound of spurs, the sun’s glare
off the shiny doppelganger derringers.
Her hat tipped onto her sweating brow.
“Contests! We don’t need no stinking contests!”
Her cowhide boots kick up the prairie dust.
She’s not your quintessential grandmother.
Her torrential windpipe words ready for a fight.
“I will be number one! Like it or not!”
She spits tobacco into the air, daring a challenge,
and it drops at the feet of the biggest contest.
“Chew on that one...for a while!”
A patch over one green eye, the jealous one. She wears it
as a badge of honor. No one messes with Lady Cogburn.
Like showing off pictures of her family, she lets a scroll roll loose.
Her adjectives and verbs, nouns and sounds.
“I dare anyone to steal my verse! Who's brave enough
to roll out one of their own!”
She spits and stares them down, as one courageous chick
steps forward and just as quick she lays her low.
“Contests! We don’t need no stinking contests! Now the rest of you scram!”
Dodge City, the ghost town, has one occupant. She lights her Virginia Slims, lets her poetic smoke circle the air — like vultures.
7/20/2018
Contests! We don’t need no stinking contests! Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John Lawless
Does it really matter what we do, what we say
Bombarding ourselves in others lives this way
Does it really matter to share our words
Powerful nouns, perennial verbs.
Idle information brings evolution ?
Extraneous ranting is others solution?
To make profit from or boast to fame
Since when are we meant to all be the same ?
Is it our God given right to mould one another ?
To preach, to teach and control one another ?
As ego and vanity burns through and out
Perhaps information we can do without?
When it’s natural to grow with changes and nature
Enlightening and brightening autonomy greater,
Now wonder ‘essentials’ uncertain, no doubt
Less information we may live without.
To give and take, the giver and taker
When the finale of life is one and the maker
Should we not stand solo uniquely on own
Without others effecting our journey back home?
Maybe I’ll rest, Maybe I will sing my song
Maybe there’s another path to travel along
Maybe I will thrive and maybe sprout
Without information I can do without.
Maybe you’ll sit and maybe you’ll see
May you have peace and simply just be
For simple it great and never to flout
Mere information, with or without.
Within every individual's mind resides a poem,
casting doubt on the assertion that each person is an island.
An internal dialogue permeates,
encompassing both positive and negative elements.
As I traverse the bustling street,
I observe others who may also perceive my presence.
Nevertheless, each of them harbors a poem within their innermost thoughts.
No matter where you end up on this planet,
You will never forget where you originate from
A mango tree is thriving in Brooklyn,
Though it may seem improbable.
However, it is still a mango tree.
However, where are the fruits,
Where are those concealed poems destined?
Will they return on the same route,
Will the verbs and nouns remain silent as well
While conveying unuttered expressions?
Did the Pied Piper know he would be deceived?
Was he aware a poem would emerge from his story?
Within every individual's mind resides a poem,
Eventually, someone will understand it correctly.
"What is life but a succession of preludes to unwritten words . . . "
Quote by_Constance La France
BLANK PAGES OF A DOORMAT
a touch of emotion is what she’s after…his touch a fire
lit inside their combatant stoves…pen ought to inspire
tit and tat attention, enclosed in verbal laundromat -
mumbling and tumbling inside - the words of a doormat
no conception in this tight-fisted vestibule - counselor points
to a list of verbs, nouns, adjectives - each word disappoints
11/14/2022
WRITING CHALLENGE - ''V'' Forms
Sponsor: Constance La France
Theme: Writing
Nouns:(choose two)
River
Heart
Verbs: (choose two)
Shiver
Gaze
Adjectives:(choose two)
Lush
Tender
Words pour from my pores, a river of light
erasing the shadows of a melancholy
my thoughts tremble, shiver like dew
whose tender trail across each petal, murmuring
expressions reflecting off the melody
lush voice of praise, stirring the heart
who hears the notes of a feeling, blessing away
the ache, grief stricken memories, in flames
passionate, convincing with an earnest gaze
her heart feels like liquid, words given to the past
where fears color her spirit in roaring phrases
meant to penetrate the life, convincing
each thought brings its victory, a sense of gentling
whoever hears her words, breaking out of their shell
compelling souls to listen to the silence
where the wind caresses the stars and invites the moon
glowing in the blackest of black, night sun
sending eventual tempting to the nocturnal
who remembers that everything, despite the storms
will come to hear the voice of One far more alive
than any word can suggest, more vivid
more vibrant than the skies who prevent the rain’s breath
realize that His love is like the answer from the sun
uttering hope, with each trickle of admiration
praise Him… PRAISE HIM… HE IS WORTHY!
more WORTHY than mere words,
more WORTHY than every poem
I was punctured by punctuations
The words you wielded with such disdain
A ravenous revolutionary
Pitilessly piercing deep into my vein
I pretended such positivity
Holding happy forward as my shield
Your attack so precise and persistent
cold and calculated you would not yield
You left little to the imagination
Expressive expletives flowed from your lips
The harmonization of my horror
I was firmly nestled within its grips
Attacked by your callous conversations
Skillfully white washing every event
They were but measly misunderstandings
Never the nouns that I thought you had meant
The truth is that I perceived your pleasure
Within that capacity of your cruel
Heading towards a cliff like a lemming
Dancing dangerously close like a fool
So I sought out new triumphant treasures
Better lines lead to a more complete me
No more would I dangle dangerously
Halting hearing you speak helped me to see!