Long November Poems
Long November Poems. Below are the most popular long November by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long November poems by poem length and keyword.
Wild Roses in Ice
At the
very edge
of a
frozen pond
during
the
ice-cold
Winter
deep
in an
old
country
forest—
unbelievably
I gaze upon
three
wild roses
frozen
in a
block
of ice
as part
of the
larger
ice flow.
These
roses
at the
pond’s
very edge
are
rosy-red
radiant
beautiful
and even
redolent
although
encased
they are
in the
frozen
ice.
These
rosy-red
roses
appear
to be
perfectly
set
in a
straight
order—
horizontally
just like . . .
1-2-3.
A
wondrously
enchanting
sight from
Mother Nature
for sure—
bringing
a big
smile
to my
face
whilst
capturing
my thoughts
and
stirring
my emotions
and
touching
the
very core
of
my being
and
my heart
and
my soul
forever!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
November 12, 2018 (Short-Line Free Verse)
What it is? Or Isn’t?
What love is…Is joy inside
Hearts so full of hope and faith
Longing to give from the soul
Gentleness, kindness, whispers of warmth
Breaths of compassion that fulfill needs
Answer prayers and enlighten spirits
What love isn’t…Love isn’t fame
Fortune or wealth. It isn’t the answer
To questions that express a need for knowing
All the best places, all the best spaces
All the best faces. Love isn’t getting
More than we give. It isn’t listening
To the shadows of doubt within.
Love is alive, a fire on the inside
Breaking through the worst fears
Assuring hearts their feeling is real
Love is nurturing, honest and true
Filled with faith and sincerity, serenity
That feels wise and so self-assured
Love is gentle and concerned with truth
Welcomes tender thoughts and reflections
On goodness, kindness and sweet acceptance
Love is passionate and thrills the heart
With the urge to listen to soft, gentle thoughts
That beckon from the spirit of one who gives
Love is the answer to many of our prayers
It’s filled with faith and peace, sighs lightly
Through the tenderness of a soft breeze
Love is a dance through the melancholy sadness
Lifting spirits with a caress from sensitivity
Music caresses the heart with rich notes of inspiration
Love loans more than hope and faith to us
It loans rivers and floods of grace and mercy
Pure joy that delights our most dismal moments
What love isn’t… is fear, hate or greed
What love is… is hope, faith and dreams
What love isn’t… is anger, rage and doubt
What love is… is living on a prayer to Him
A God who knows our spirits live on real love
Love that gives, lives and fills up our spirits
With beauty and peace that comes from knowing
Love that is stronger than anything there is
Love that is wiser than anything that we might give
Love that is the answer to our heart’s quest
For a feeling that can guide us to heaven’s shore
It is what it is..............or is it??? Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John lawless
November 24, 2020
Whoops! Yours truly almost ditched the missus...
Who nearly knocked me upside noggin
property of self anointed Unitarian sheikh
yea... of course by accident,
nor lame excuse accepted
playing spontaneous hide-and-seek
game, and not exactly romantic technique
to allow, enable and provide sleek
move antithetical to marriage vows
but surefire guarantee
driving marriage to brink
immediately trending toward unique
modus operandi countdown seek
your ring bachelorhood
days numbering less than week
ushering hermit age regarding,
the creator and master of Mattspeak
understandable, she did shriek
feeling abandoned, ready to freak
out, she wearing easy to identify
floppy pink hat shielding incognito pique,
she gravely mistaken for banshee
series of unfortunate events not for meek
nor "Fake" feint of heart as blunderbuss
just amazingly graced
my smooth shaven cheek.
Predicament arose after I drove
2009 Hyundai Sonata wheel hove
(we love) to established local
CJ'S TIRE & AUTOMOTIVE SERVICES
8:00 A.M. today November 19th, 2019 at:
(1405 S Township Line Rd,
Royersford, PA 19468), formerly mangrove
bajillion years ago, thine spouse strove,
while awaiting emergency brake replacement
took short hike to purchase
supplies walking within distance to:
A.C. Moore Arts and Crafts
1824 E Ridge Pike Suite 102,
Royersford, PA 19468,
mine infinite wisdom
erred when I didst prove
thyself foolish heading by jove
to aforementioned store ex post facto
getting her name paged over intercom
only to loopback to
mechanic shop mentioned above,
upon returning to 2 Highland Manor Drive
she did Potchki while anchored, berthed,
hunkered within her cove
channel surfing for favorite program.
How fast the years did clip and leap away,
till your Earth orbitz count ninety decades
+ uno journeys orbited around mister sun
encompassing metaphorical magnum opus
figuratively paginated bound compendium,
whereby chronology Boyce Brandon Harris
also known as papa san 'pon being drafted
his six foot 2 inch tiptop chiseled physique
(musculoskeletal frame shrunk) dada fought
the good fight one among many raw recruits
stationed south 38th parallel serving admins
Harry Truman, & Dwight David Eisenhower
bolstering strongman Syngman Rhee against
Kim Il-sung during 6/25, 1950 – 7/27, 1953
war (actually stalemate) whereby former and
latter controlled South and North Korean as
separate countries - father (soldier of fortune
(he art not yet in heaven, whatever Unitarian
equivalent would be) hoping to live at least
until Tuesday, November 3, 2020 to vote for
fightin Joe Biden, meanwhile Zayda to his 5
grandkids keeps low profile at Normandy
Farm Estates upscale retirement community
whose delicate health (i.e. congestive heart
failure) could (does) pose hardship visa vis
his immune system susceptible to microbes
(particularly strains) virile which could spell
death of beloved nonagenarian, whose dim
eyes sees approaching exit (stage door left)
out webbed wide world of living survivors.
Mayor presence be regaled as presents
courtesy second rate poetaster
born (only heir - hiss supple) while ye still
tread, albeit ably helped along with cane.
H-A-P-P-Y B-I-R-T-H-D-A-Y
Son did you hurt yourself?
Posted on November 15, 2013 by libertariandad Standard
There once lived a young man. He lived in the woods with his mother. She cooked and cleaned the house and he would go to work. Unfortunately the father had died a couple of years earlier and that had forced the young man to go and work to support his mother. They were happy together.
However one day the young man ran into a beautiful girl and he kept thinking about her. He would ask her to go out with him and she would keep on declining. But finally she said okay I will go out with you. However there is only way that I will go out with you. The young man asked her what it was and she responded that he had to show her that he loved her and would do anything for her. The girl said that she wanted him to bring her the head of his mother.
The young man was shocked at this and thought about it on his way home.
He drummed up the courage and chopped his moms head to have a date with the beautiful girl. He put the head into a basket and ran back through the woods as fast he could to the girl. But a tree root stuck out of the ground and caught the young mans foot and he tripped. The head of his mom rolled out of the basket and looked at him and asked, “Son, did you hurt yourself?”
DID YOU HURT YOURSELF MY SON?
A man he met a sexy pretty girl,
Thought that he had found a pearl,
She turned out to become so evil,
And caused disastrous upheaval,
She wanted more than just a twirl!
The man insisted that he date her,
Nothing he said to her would stir,
Bring back to me your mothers head
To prove your love for me she said.
The man bewildered, his mind a blur!
Returning home, with head in cloth
A butcher with a bloody swath,
He tripped and fell, he heard a voice,
My son was this really your choice,
His mother’s head held him no wrath.
From heaven this man would be exiled,
A feeble, stupid, man so meek and mild
But as a mother, with just a head
She had only one thing to be said
My son did you hurt yourself my child!
Its boughs spread like a giant umbrella,
Its girth, like the span of many hands,
Its foliage was lustrous green and exuberant,
Its roots dispersed like the tentacles of an octopus.
This tree stood tall and strong,
It stood against the tides of seasons,
It withstood fierce winds,
It swirled and danced to their rhythms.
It was the admiration of many people,
They praised and talked about its resilience,
Children played around it until sunset,
Travellers took refuge under its shade,
Others took parts of it for herbs and spices.
Nobody knew what it went through on the inside,
Little cuts metamorphosed into deep wounds,
Tiny slashes transformed into intense lacerations,
These were recalcitrant to healing.
There was a raging storm,
It passed through the town,
It shook everything to its foundation,
It pulled down and ripped apart,
This tree bowed to its wake.
A part of it held the forte,
It only took a while,
After spring,
There was an awakening,
It sprouted and budded again.
November 6, 2022.
Renascence,
This or That, Vol 14 Poetry Contest,
Edward Ibeh.
They journeyed through the woods
Over the mountains and hills
The book spoke about them
It said nothing about their adventure
It said nothing about their sojourn
To retrieve the lost chalice
Mysteriously stolen
Enchanted and bewitched
It had brought calamities
and havoc on the land
Strange things had befallen them
Anguish and apparition clouded each day
The chalice sat in a
chamber in the palace
Guarded by the dark Knights,
Mornings and nights
they guarded in turns
These knights were chosen by the sage
They were blessed with an unusual gift
They could see beyond human's sight,
To take an unusual fight.
The chalice left its chamber
Before dawn on a day in November
It was a huge surprise
An unprecedented event
The wise one went into a trance
He transcended to heights he rarely did
This almost took him completely away
He saw everything that happened
When the chalice was stolen
and where it had gone
An act of sorcery of the deepest order
The knights fought relentlessly
They wielded their swords fearlessly
They encountered eerie monsters
Some were like giant lobsters
They fought and prevailed
It was a brave travail
The chalice was held in a mystical field
Spinning and reverberating
They could not near or touch it
It pierced their minds and souls
They spoke those words
The ones only they could utter
Written in the book
The enchantment was dispelled
The chalice fell into their hands
They returned to their land
They had gone for a fortnight
It was great joy and
celebration in their country
They were honoured by the king
They drank from the chalice
Except for the king
Only brave knights could drink from it
Their names were written in
the Chronicles of the Knights
The sage wrote their names in the book
He was honoured to keep the book
Kept only in the king's secret chamber.
January 13, 2023.
Metrical Tale Cash Prize Poetry Contest,
Hilo Poet.
NOVEMBER TWINKLE FAIRY
Little twinkle fairy
from realm of starry firmament
floating on fluffy clouds of November
flapping fluttering feathery wings flip-flop,
descended on verdant valley of Earth.
She stepped on feral grass of wide field at turquoise night.
Slept supine on non-mowed meadow.
Twinkle fairy awoke at dazzling dawn.
Whelmed to descry glistening dew drops
adorning her auburn attire and pearly plaid.
Twinkle fairy had put periwinkle petals
on her diamond-embedded diadem.
Leaped on ridges and creases of pebbled path.
Twinkle fairy walked on wrinkles of furrows.
Frolic fairy in fervent fervid mood
showing fervor to dance delight
on little brittle ripples of calm stream
under soft placid beam of November Sun,
even at noon, but soon sudden gust chasing dust
sent chilled errand.
Twinkle fairy shivered alarmed.
Spread her little wings to soar high.
Misty ambient bade goodbye.
Smog of November enshrouded view.
November Twinkle Fairy to flee in glee,
leaving few zealous moments to remember.
11/01/19
'November Twinkle Fairy' Contest by Caren Krutsinger.
Written: November 11, 2025, for contest sponsored by: JCB Brul
********************
* / *
***
/||\
m
o o on the l~a~k~e~—
n l
i g
h
t
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***
* \ *
s
h e t
\ f
\ i
a r l s i
/ l e
/ f r o m n c
n o e
i p e
r ~ ~ p~ ~l ~ ~s s t
k h
e g
t i
c l
h its f
moonlight on the lake—
a heron lifts from silence
ripples sketch its flight
I haven’t always dreaded the approach of night;
I’d loved it, in fact, for its mysterious ways
And how the darkness would seem to swallow the light
That manages still to shine its dazzling rays,
Bathing all in its path in silvery white
And giving everything a porcelain-like glaze.
Now, though, as the day comes to its destined end
I shake with fear at what the shadows portend.
It was not long ago when in the dead of night
He came to my room and loomed over me,
His face familiar though it was against the light,
He ignored my tears and most earnest plea,
So while my room was bathed in silvery white
He defiled kinship and violated me.
Now as twilight brings the day slowly to end
I brace myself for what the shadows portend.
November 3, 2024
Baguio City