Long Novice Poems
Long Novice Poems. Below are the most popular long Novice by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Novice poems by poem length and keyword.
Pop, grind, slide,
Baggy pants, oversized shirt,
Who washed?
Here comes a novice with wood.
We ignore him until he wanders away.
My pal Doug is practicing a 186 change
Flipping his board over and over, landing on it.
He’s a beginner too, but for some reason it does not bother me.
Maybe because we are friends.
I wander up and give him a couple of Chinese Nollies
And a Biebelheimer
I am such a showoff on my board!
Cannot help it.
Spent a year or two practicing all these moves.
My cousin is practicing the stairs.
Ends up with a loud slam.
We clap for him.
Sounded like he broke a couple of teeth.
He gets up, pleased, takes a bow.
Hey! Watch me do this Fakie 180, the new kid yells.
We ignore him. He’s not one of us.
He does a hippie jump and lands on his nose.
I wander over to check on him.
Maybe I was too harsh.
Forty Christians from Southcourt Baptists,
Skiers,good,novice & the inactive;
On the flight from London-Heathrow,
Trusting Italy was full of snow.
Huddled in a coach past Trento,
Disembark in MSV's mountain shadow;
Crammed & cushed into th cable car,
Just in time for sckolade in the the bar.
Up early to claim skis & boots,
Dressed in salapettes & chic ski suits;
Wait in line for the revolving chairlift,
At the top,jumping off pretty swift.
Down & up the beginners' slope,
In a whiteout,with a prayer& hope;
Pasta for lunch,again & again,
But good to miss out of the English rain.
Learning the knack of forling fondue,
Joining the folk-dance,without a clue;
Saying danke to Karl the owner,
Back on the bus to airport,Verona.
Freestyle to Quatrain
**Letter to a Poet**
Langston Hughes inspired me as a young man
with "Daybreak in Alabama".
A plea for racial equality,
his words meant so much to me
and still do!
most times funny and witty,
bringing out humor when times were ****ty!
Tupac Shakur has had a huge impact
in my life!
His message opposite from mine,
from different sides of the track!
I remember the first time I read
"A Rose That Grew From Concrete"
"Jada" and "When Ure Hero Falls"
I remember the conviction,
I felt he was falsely accused!
But controversy never shook
his convictions,
In rap he took refuge!
Can you see the common theme
of what inspired me the most?
An ambitious white boy with a dream
open mic nights from coast to coast.
Lewis Carroll, Emily Dickinson
William Shakespeare and Walt Whitman!
Poems like "Jabberwocky"
and "Oh Captain! My Captain"
I've had inspiration a plenty
from a variety of minds.
I found my muse in my twenties,
guess the stars had aligned!
Although she is not famous
much like myself!
poetically she's a genius
triggering emotions I'd never felt
Collaborations, late night sessions
helped a novice reach a new plateau!
Poetry is my release, my confession!
So my favorite poet is you, Consuelo!!
Written for for the "Letters to Poets" contest
sponsored by Monterey Sirak.
What to push into a poem next? What to begin to write?
What if nothing hits me as smart or even a bit bright?
Should I work on a quatorzain, quatrain or questionku?
What feels right? What should a beginning poet do?
Diamante, didactic, or diminished Hexaverse?
Where is that cheat sheet I used to keep in my purse?
Which one is which? Can I remember all of the rules?
Without looking them up, without Poetry Soup tools?
What is the difference between free verse, light verse, and blank verse?
Do I need to read them aloud? Do I need to rehearse?
Should I start yelling out words as they come into my mind?
Do I toss them out on paper? Do I seek my own kind?
My muse smiles as I flip open my-go-to-site
The one we love happily with all of our might.
And click on the link that says poetry types,
We begin throwing stuff onto paper, without any hype.
A quatorzain, quatrain or questionku?
What is a practicing novice poet supposed to do?
I guess just keep throwing out missives with stars and a moon.
Knowing PoetrySoup is not going anywhere soon.
Too many witnesses, it will be a buster clutch, they’ll get mean.
Chief of police always gets his boxers in a bunch at a crime’s scene
I am a novice, and an intern. It is my first day not on the force.
Just watch; it could turn ugly; a dog and pony show with a large horse.
What was taken? I asked; it must be something valuable and big.
As far as I understand it, it is the farmer’s wife, little girl and his pig.
The wife isn’t worth much. The little girl can be a handful for sure.
But that potbelly pig has great bloodlines, his markings are pure.
You interview the sheep, I’ll take the cows and the rooster over there.
Thought mentor’s idea sounded like a good one, wise, and quite fair.
The sheep were not cooperating; they refused to speak at all.
Rooster was crowing and crooning, with each sound, he’d gotten tall.
How did you do? Larry asked; he had ridiculous notes, three pages.
I had to admit the sheep had clammed up; and he began some rages.
The sheep could not be coaxed to speak, for which I was rather glad.
I did not want to fail in front of Chief of Police, my own sweet Dad.
She senses before she sees
The manicured nails - the elegant fingers
Holding out the hundred dollar bills - enticingly - so temptingly
A generous nights takings of busking here
In one proffered hand
She grabs at it petrified it might be an illusion
Evaporating in a puff of smoke
Fingers hold it back, teasingly
Compelling eye contact
She looks up sceptically
Dark eyes meet her aqua blues, sparking a sort of affinity
‘Eyes are the window of one’s soul’- so it is said in all sincerity
But the magnetic dark eyes of her enticer are fathomless in their intensity
His type she has encountered before - money for favours
Well she is no novice - a living after all - a girl has to make
And his generous offer rivals his devilish good looks
But she senses a darkness favouring the energy emanating
A cold shiver runs through her veins like someone just walked on her grave
Fear ripples down her spine akin to a stroking finger chilled in ice
The spell he casts foreboding
The calmness of the night has taken flight
In its haste to set the macabre scene
Mesmerising are the eyes that bore into hers
Projected thoughts furtively slip into her mind
Infiltrating it like a slithery snake
Bringing with it forbidden thoughts of desire
She falls into the inky black abyss
Succumbing to heady dark passionate conceptualization
However the chilling message is coherent
This is not a mere opportunistic one night stand
That he desires
This is more - so much more
This is taboo concupiscence unleashed
This is her life in exchange for what?
Her life for immortality?
Surely not!
Yet his eyes eloquently convey it all
The hunger so unconcealed - so transparently flagrant
To yield to darkness
Satisfying his appetite for
Death of a different nature?
Obliteration of life as she knows it to be
Tenebrous Immortality in exchange for her blood
A prelude to his finale of taking her soul
And then a metamorphosis
From Prey to Predator
Video clip -
Like a Vampire- Catrien Maxwell
A hospitable host for the poets all over
Decorated with the festoons of poems
Disseminating the aroma of knowledge
With eye-feasting and insightful portraits
Serene and sweet music of audio clippings
Ragas of divergent genres with positive vibes
Free from the constraints of domestic walls
Cognizance of rich inputs with impartial judgements
Supportive dais for classic and novice poets
Sharing of different beliefs and traditions
A storehouse of passions and emotions
Bringing myriad thoughts across the world together
A lovely platform that has accommodated me
Poetry Soup – A new world of linguaphiles!
Place : 2nd
A cop a fireman or a doctor the novice writer tried.
Been done someone countered quickly, and way too much gore.
Look at what people watch the confident writer replied.
It would have to will last a hundred episodes or more.
What about an action film? The newcomer suggested.
With chase scenes and car crashes, fast-pace
Lots of smart cops, and no one getting arrested
Adrenaline pumping, firemen joining the race.
What about throwing in a doctor who can solve a hard case?
The writer queried, knowing what the public would watch
Sounds pretty good the head writer said without a jeering face.
A cop, a doctor and a fireman, he had won with quiet grace.
The series was a hit, because it is what the most people seek.
Good guys helping the public, taking murderers off the street.
Doctors with brains figuring out clues when given a little peek.
A formula that has worked for centuries, one that cannot be beat.
Dr. Kildare, E.R., Blue Bloods, Gray’s Anatomy, the mightiest mights,
TV shows that obtain a following and keep interest loud and clear.
If you want to hold interest long enough to get syndication rights
Cops, doctors, and firemen. The formula is pretty nearly dear.
*Image of Take In North America by Amtrak.
Training Experience: Novice
All onboard, the Pacific Coast-Liner,
it is seventy-seven, my first leave
of a first year's work. A bit sideliner
on board, the conductor took my bag, "We've
an opened dining car?", ... only diner.
Hilly city skyline glistens, task the
stars a righteous challenge as bay bridges
chime in, and scores mankind not to go, "Huh?"
Though, not bested but balanced by smidges,
from the dining car, swirled eyes go gaga!
Speckled dark over SF Bay, a shaky
train crossing tracks, passing seductive woods
and dotted town lights yond away. Snaky
mountain passes morning eyes, a boyhood's
dream grasped tunnels and frames of white flakey.
Portland, a short stopover, unknowing
passengers, like me, went to the station.
Town postcards I found and left, ongoing
browsing for some soon turned to frustration
as the train went without them ... mind-blowing.
Fronting Portland's downtown district, the view
is great o'er the Columbia River
we crossed to Vancouver. Washington cue
our end's nigh and the train will deliver
me soon to old friends, of a boy they knew.
The quaint King Street station close up ahead
and as I'm all packed and ready in my
private cabin. It stopped, chose I instead
to be last. Friends asked the agent if I
missed it? "He looks Hawaiian?" He pointed.
2021 October 14
*3rd Place*
Railroads, A Historical Glance Back
~~BJ Legros Kelley: Judged 2021 November 16
And so you dust the book that's me
right off the shelf called LOVERS
You have found the others not to
be as enthrallingly intense
caressing the gilded pages,
you take a moment to admire me
through the layer of dust
with eager fingers you try to pry my cover
I will not let you open me again
those lines of love and rhymes of passion
encrypted with your name
will no longer be available to be read
consider this book, archaic
Put me back on the shelf
for I'd rather gather dust
then be poured over
by your careless fingers...
fingers that have traced other lines
eyes that have viewed other plots than mine
Leave me alone
for my mysteries were beyond your understanding
a book not for the novice in love
but for the mature
the secure
read the other volumes
more slender than mine
less complicated
more frivolous
entertaining
devoid of depth of meaning
devoid of passionate climaxes
and intricate subplots
Come back to me
when you hold me as a sacred volume
of love and life
the only sacred writ to fit your needs
then I will open my covers
and let you devour
the secrets of my essence
the mysteries of your universe
you will need no other book
to live by
to learn by
to love by
except this unabridged volume
of poetry
that is
me.
Eileen Manassian
I was reminded of this poem that I posted on September 2016. I often look up my name on Google to see where my poetry as gone, and I'm so thrilled with my findings. My poems have found their way into books, blogs, school programs, internet educational and gaming sites, Instagram posts, Facebook posts, and as a Tattoo on someone's body! Someone has done a dramatic reading of this poem on Sound Cloud. I quite like it and thought I would share it with you. I have no idea who this person is, but I like what they've done with my work.
Here is the Sound Cloud Link: https://soundcloud.com/allouthelter/no-other-by-eileen-manassian-ghali
My original poem is found on this link: https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/no_other_826957