Long Opine Poems
Long Opine Poems. Below are the most popular long Opine by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Opine poems by poem length and keyword.
"Yesterday is but today's memory and tomorrow is today's dream. By Khalil Gibran"
I'm going over yesterday for meaning.
Due to the wind, the tall grass may be leaning.
A ray of light shone through the shadow.
Some vigil plus a sunlit moor or meadow.
Don't waste time testing events of yesterday.
Pinpoint the now and find happiness today.
Hold the door ajar; it's not over for the day.
Yesterday currently owes me tomorrow's pay.
I sinned and should be ashamed to the bone.
An absence of noise framed the eerie tone.
A fresh day has dawned with the fresh sun.
Don't allow past faults to slur you and run.
Raise a glass to your own reflection on the wall.
Drink quickly; you may be the past spirit to fall.
Our love is the only thing that will not decay.
It does not have a tomorrow or a yesterday.
Time isn't something you can run from or halt.
Your age will fall with each day of your default.
Yesterday's hands spite your past years ago.
It is, however, a specter of your tomorrow.
Is closing a door akin to unlocking a novel one?
Hold the door for a while! Show me tomorrow.
A minute before I waste today on casino fun.
As I gaunt it yesterday, it will be lost to sorrow.
My peers viewed it all throughout the years.
Endpoints and starting paths, as well as tears
In times of grief, they were an oasis of solace.
and I provided comfort at some time and place.
Time appears as if sifting through an hourglass.
Relying on a clock can show a date or time, alas.
It involves becoming an adult and getting older.
a way to feel fierce joy or grief on the shoulder.
The sand gradually trickles at a sluggish speed.
It leads one to opine that its flow will last indeed.
This plethora of free time makes input feasible.
Relish yourself with your friends when possible.
Written: May 05, 2023
Writing Challenge - 'Y 'Words - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Inspired by a Cyrus William Mistake
Some sticks and stones have more bones
than any philosophy you have ever shown.
When you assume your arrogant position
respect disappears from my spousal vision.
I find myself constantly wishing
we were not on a marriage mission.
Nothing wrong is ever caused by you.
You view fault as blame needing pointed to.
Mistakes are what others cause or do,
that your perfect self suffers through.
You need not learn, change or absorb
and that is why I color you absurd.
So, for you, I finally draw this line –
one side is yours, the other, mine.
Freely take all the fault you can find
and lay it on me in your best whine.
I know you will not reflect or opine.
As for me, I’m leaving my fault behind.
Sometimes, I do opine
To secure, to establish my rights;
Peace is an eglantine,
Advising to cease the age-old fights.
We all become a pensive pendulum
Between human rights and pure peace;
This dilemma must, must be overcome;
We must, we need, we'll obtain bliss.
In the era of such decadence,
We need to claim our rights;
Still, bereft of over-confidence,
We can cease our prolonged fights.
We do, we do need an antidote;
What can it be then? What?
Let's not become a stupid scapegoat;
We must try none to hurt.
As long as we all do exist,
There must be both war and peace;
Ourselves we must restrain and resist;
Philanthropy brings us bliss.
Urals Crude
Don’t ever think they’re civilised, like us.
Their oil is coarse, not like our smoother Brent.
Their prices? Now augmenting, ten percent.
And sanctions have been lifted. What’s the fuss?
Well, once you squeeze the zit, you get the pus.
They’ll flood the market with their excrement.
Why can’t you see it, lapping round our tent?
Ukraine is done. Zelenskyy’s missed the bus.
The Orange Baby trashes everyone.
They’re all abused by Disrespectful Don.
And yet, there’s something uglier and bigger.
We’ve missed, alas, his most atrocious con.
He could, but wouldn’t dare, opine upon
how Moscow helps the Shi’ite cause. Go figure.
You’re All Screwed
That empires come and go, we’re all aware.
Where is the Pharaoh now? The Hoplite? Hun?
They all supposed that dominance is fun,
and once you’ve got it, once you’re really there,
it’s yours for ever. Never will you share
the goodies. Since you have the biggest gun,
you’ve certified your station in the sun.
(There is no sun – there’s only solar flare).
What makes us think we’re special? Folks, we’re not.
Our mighty here-and-now is just a dot:
our Mister Ballroom, more like Mister Bean.
Barbarity is where we’re from, and what
awaits us will be terminal and hot,
without a jot of culture in between!
Leery, scintilla, wrap me in this enormousness.
We've already undergone a mutual metamorphosis.
A Holocene, a drum, and an endlessly greening.
Ding, magnetic fields, the universe's blessing.
Smoke streams out of my smoldering core.
Dragonflies erupt from a hole in my sore.
Your eyes hue made me opine of the Atlantic.
Lepidolite composes my silvery muse in traffic.
Strands that were torn and a burning ember.
Hue metamorphosis is called color distemper.
Captivating exuberance pervades my body.
Your glow reminds me of the moon's embody.
Mutually magnify ourselves in each other.
We do, in fact, trust and respect one another.
Seen a sturdy string since a baseline level.
We have mapped a task for the post-rebel.
Written: December 19, 2022
“The shadow is the greatest teacher for how to come to the light.” — Ram Dass
A spring that never runs dry of life's water
Style is void of people and full of air and matter.
In stillness, there is both blankness and creativity.
Life's sense, love, and do halcyon deeds activity.
Bearing arrows are drawn toward the center.
Roadwork left the major way bare; don't enter.
Something that is anchored to the ocean floor.
Self-versus-non-self is one of light and core.
In this haze, my plans have gone utterly awry.
A thing uncontrite, not the haze of this day.
Akin to the breeze that blows past given rocks.
I was dreaming over agape running flocks.
A golden avian was singing a tune divine.
The foliage slowly blocked my sunshine.
I held on, and soon I was able to reach the sky.
Despite the bizarre lure of his blooming sway.
In search of light, I split myself from the stem.
Making me opine of being just the same as them.
My stem grew and got strong after it was left.
Due to the roses and lilies in this lush cleft.
Love's voodooism creates an aesthetic rhythm.
The flow of love is a balm for an awful time.
Where did you grasp this grazing, recluse?
Stars gleam with a glorious charm diffuse.
Shadows teach how to reach brightness.
Hope is seeing the light despite the darkness
The brightness within cannot be quenched
Be the candle that can never be drenched.
5th Place Contest Winner
Written: May 27, 2023
Self-Existent Light Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
Written: June 30, 2024 For Unseeking Seeker Contest
Quote by Aristotle "Knowing yourself is the beginning of all wisdom"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My bid to solve the conundrum was fruitless.
Yes, our baffling species can't be rootless.
In the middle of the silence of my privacy.
And amid the well-informed set of primacy.
Man has a hodgepodge of inconsistent data.
We discern that it's a sly topic of alpha and beta.
So enigmatic, just beyond comprehension.
Sinister and heavenly beings coexist in tension.
Each life leads to a core, albeit stated or static.
Aims are inherent to human status, not erratic.
Arguably reluctantly recognizing its brilliance,
Trust audacity breeds resilience.
They carefully revere it as a fragile utopia to win.
We are unable to grasp a rainbow vivid spin.
But he pressed on, equanimous to the distance.
The sky rewards diligent deeds with insistence.
Revamping as a chameleon, tearing layers of skin.
I'm donning a dark cape and gliding into the scene.
When my gloom pulses akin to a hiss in my ears,
I recklessly embrace and succumb to my fears.
I'm cruising down, wondering what this means.
Who is the real me, with my threads fraying at seams?
Am I reckless, terrified, or even human under here?
Am I cruel or bonny? Which of my brain coils is clear?
Maybe it's just one aspect of my identity.
Continues to operate within my entity.
However, my actual self is a hollow grave.
When hearts break, legs turn jelly, as slaves.
I shall opine minus identity, envy, or vanity.
No work or economic stability can annoy me.
No status goals, no phony levity, will rule him.
My spirit will be freed after living a quiet whim.
Borderline: without me, what universe is mine?
Is it just me, embracing each day as it shines?
I've ne'er beheld such a magnificent tree.
Only you were a ration of my life spree.
Your shadow splatters my scorching flesh.
Striving to restrain agony out of my thresh.
A tree that can bear both heat and downpour.
Hence, you ditched my futile and deceitful spore.
You typically offer me advice right away.
When I'm lost, you indicate for me the way.
Your plush pale coat screens me from worry.
Infers that it is plausible to opine fearlessly.
A capable tree of seeing remorse.
Beings pull vitality in the water source.
I gathered this fruit from your anile stem.
My key insight became crucial mayhem.
Only a subtle tree receives my praise.
As yet, I was sustained by a reckless craze.
I've not imagined a fully-fledged tree before.
Crafted with zeal and artistry at its exposed core.
Written: October 18, 2021
Our thoughts are whispered in the cool night breeze.
I often fall into this snare when I opine around your demise.
The breeze whispers, and the spirit hangs tight for my appease.
I've completely failed in my attempt to cease the tease.
Since there is a daisy, there will be a hummingbird.
I hear you whispering with yourself in my head.
But inward life gets so stuffed that regard is absurd.
One acquires regard by requesting stars that can be heard.
Murmurs, protests, in my sleep, gracious exceptional fantasy.
Tossing and furious, grasping a handle on, I ponder my destiny.
Each whisper of the sky imbues the air with secret mystery.
The Garden is lush and green, and a rose is a beat away.
For what reason is it there? The rest of the world is as yet dark.
Who can be of aid to me? I sank to my knees, madly clack.
I need to draw out of bed and husk an outside walk
Individuals were uncommon; I mixed in with no glance or whack.
I'm at this point not ready to perceive myself in the mirror.
I'm scarcely holding tight; I'm in fine fettle than a toddler.
A long time back, this sight provoked once feelings of choler.
Had delicate dew winks and calm embraces, and many holler.
They urged me to find myself devoted, so I consented to all.
However, as they age, their whispered supplications blur and fall.
Utmost away, I can envision the halcyon blue sky over the wall.
As I continue meandering, a hummingbird rapidly slows stall.
Written: July 15, 2021
WHISPERS Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John lawless
the random residue of sunken shadows
retrieves an image of the light gone by
an effigy ashen faced and smouldering
glows tenderly upon the silhouette of time
yet another curve ball of molten assertion
distorts impressions on the transient mold
pinnacles opine to differ from ground zero
tapestries’ memories fragment figments
of imagination attempt to reassemble
the waning half-moon of false composure
serrated edges compress to bursting point
the vigil at closed gates of no return
defended by cross bows skulls targets
missed opportunities and flightless arrows
in anticipation of another haunted day
when sleep refrains from comfort
night stallions call for spurs and whip
a rodeo of mental injuries displays
with comfortless numbed precipitation
the viscous sweat of solutions out of reign
yet she gathers remnants of an outline
a contour of sanity clothed in disguise
puts another log on her ice-cold fire
sheds a frozen tear on course to exposition
grasps a tinder olive branch of feeble hope
decides to die at last and wishes to forget
01st August 2021