Long Oration Poems
Long Oration Poems. Below are the most popular long Oration by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Oration poems by poem length and keyword.
It's percolating from below.
If lava ain't allowed to flow,
you'll see something more abrupt.
One day, it must erupt.
A pompous, boring oration
continuing without cessation -
trying to listen to what he said,
a fly has landed on his bald head.
Trying to suppress thereafter,
impossible, you burst into laughter.
An injustice, and you start to boil.
It seems like such a heavy toll.
As you try hard to keep your peace,
it struggles for release.
Like a kettle filled with steam,
you can't stop it, and you scream.
Maybe, it's not entirely proper,
a genteel lady and a sharecropper,
but, with this impassioned lust,
if it must be, then, well, it must.
Spurred on by a little brandy,
a closet comes in handy.
It could be a poem or piece of art
locked up tightly inside your heart,
a message, you feel you must impart -
is it dead before it can start?
No, my dear, it continues to live,
until, your gift, to the world you give.
Authorities can suppress the truth -
rulers, teachers, influencing youth,
who slowly grow up and bide their time,
appearing to all to toe the line.
It may take a while, but without fail,
the truth will, one day, prevail.
It's percolating from below.
If lava ain't allowed to flow,
you'll see something more abrupt.
One day, it must erupt.
Following night's tenebrous sheen
on this aging lake-
humped seashells drifted on aimlessly;
I Iaid forlorn by an old palm tree
needing to connect with anyone, anyone
until turbulent waves slapped my face..
How bitter this stab of aloneness
....gripping the hidden lament without relief
and eve's naked rays were gone
upon my chilling pores...
and no one cared about my misery.
Insolent ripples drowned my grate of angst
where bleary eyes grieved like a widow:
I moaned in hushes yet not even
a restless wind heard
my internal oration, my calls for reprieve ---
begging for a timber of sound
beneath a shawl of dimming stars ,
no one , not even the silence
of a saintly breeze
cared to listen ...not now.
4th place
I’d extend an invitation
to all in the congregation
through this speech of inspiration
which is quite a compilation
yet I expect no adulation
and no gest of adoration
for in my own estimation
it’s a trifle occupation
clearing out the obfuscation
of a simple predication
o’er the course of this oration
through the rhyme of this dictation
See it’s a feebly built narration,
or an errant adaptation
sitting ‘top a weak foundation
grounded on some old quotation
writ in archaic notation
which seems to bear no strong relation
to the current held fixation
on the poorly built translation
which is more of a mutation
than an actual citation.
Now to give a brief summation
I will fight off the temptation
and my present inclination
to continue this vocation
and I’ll risk your irritation
with this act of abdication
and upset your expectation
by using this line instead
to add a bit of variation
as the only deviation
in my final recitation.
Now please stifle your elation
as I offer resignation
for I’m out of medication
and I fear the obligation
to interpret revelation
meant to spell out your salvation
is to my great consternation
causing meal regurgitation
and worse stomach ulceration
though at best the correlation
is just my imagination.
So I’m taking a vacation
to a tropical location
lost in wild vegetation
where I’ll watch in adoration
those grass skirts in their gyration
and sip drinks of fermentation
to avoid the dehydration
that always comes by deprivation
or by over-conservation.
If it’s any consolation,
after lots of vaccination
I’ll pursue my destination
through a week of navigation
on a vessel of flotation
as my mode of transportation
and forego all aviation.
So I plead, dear congregation
understand my situation
‘spite my freedom from taxation,
just suppress your indignation
toward my dreams of recreation
though I have no explanation
save this current presentation.
And though there is no valuation
for true acts of consecration,
after much consideration
if you’d show your dedication
with a generous donation,
I could use the insulation.
Amen.
A small desire like a spark, I do not know lit from where,
Frenzy of becoming an orator in me did flair;
I watched often, like blackbirds, seldom shutting my eye-lids,
Each speech of great orators, staying solid like lipids...!
It's time to perform - said well-wishers, relatives and friends,
Good-time was what all waited for anxieties to cleanse;
I was then a little boy just reaching adolescence,
Emotions and feelings had invaded my common-sense...!
There came, as though the final judgment, the appointed day,
I was ready, on our school stage, to perform my best way;
All applauded, as I entered the stage very happy,
Why this tremor? Why blankness of mind? Why heart goes flabby...?
Many laughed, howled and hooted; my kith and kin stood perplexed;
I left the dais, like a lunatic, humbled and vexed;
Pain of shame, like bark scorpion, my internals did sting,
Despair and frustration within, like eagles, did spread wing...!
I went dumbstruck and plunged into a cave of silence,
Knowing, my people left me to my inner violence;
That I come out, like a lion, courageous and robust,
Excel in performance, full of self-confidence and trust...!
What clicked, then, exactly, I still verily do not know,
Was it the resolve within that like flood of lava, flow?
My oration out-poured like a cloudburst, thunderously,
In this art, now, I shine like Sirius star, wondrously...!
31 May 2022
The Greatest Performance of My Life Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: JCB Brul
Violence in the political party
A pebble thrown to defend oneself from a barrage of 100- stones
The bully then complains of abuse—might never makes right
will we unite?—I Am Anaya “All for one and one for all”
Bullied everyday was he, his peer would tell the news agent
He was different, a loner, weird, wore camouflage
And so, we tormented him
A lunch bench, a boy sequestered was “bullied every day”
Silent, defeated, sunken, he rarely spoke a word
Clean slate, passes a routine background check
A dietary aid prepping food in a nursing home
Nothing unusual nothing remarkable
Republican at heart for God knows what gave way, donates
to the loyal opposition a progressive bent
A bit addled and mixed up, can we see?
Unleashing his wrath a man filled with hurt with hate
In his own backyard, the tormented dons the guise of the tormentor
The assailed becomes the assailant
The unthinkable is done, perched upon a roof
four-hundred feet away just minutes into the oration
he aims then pulls the trigger
obscure and distressed Crooks alters history’s course
with a firearm at the ready as a duty and right
Father Crooks kept many, in a very pro-gun town
At the hands of a 20-year-old man who was
bullied by their own sons and daughters
Counselors, both father and mother
trained to help troubled minds, how ironic
Where were they as their son’s inner storm brewed?
A blind eye turned away what shame, what horror
Yet the world’s most salient story
A crazy old man once told me,
“Heaven is made of the things you give away.”
It appeared he was next in line for heaven
as he had next to nothing left to give.
We shared a cup of coffee, conversation,
well not so much conversation
as a gentle walk through a magical forest.
His voice had not grown old or weary
of his quest to share his experience.
He stooped to pick up a napkin
discarded in haste, tucked it
in his pocket as we walked.
He shared his muffin,
spoke with a woman
pushing a shopping cart
through the Common.
She walked away smiling.
The muffin crumbs he left for the birds.
He nodded to the homeless,
waved to strangers, petted stray dogs,
offering all the brightness of his being,
warmth of his eyes,
quizzical wrinkle of his grin.
His rambling soliloquy
poked sticks at the universe,
offered hope to the ducklings…
yeah … the ducklings followed him
as if they knew that he knew.
As we approached the starting point
of both walk and oration he spoke
of the completed circle – not the
circumference - but the center,
said that the achievement was not
in amassing things to give away
but to offer freely those things
that you always have. Time, he said,
is huge, as is a smile, a word,
a shared muffin, a moment
in the passing of an eon.
He left me sitting on a park bench
sharing muffin crumbs
and smiling.
1/25/2017
submitted to – Random Acts of Kindness – Poetry Contest
Is your comeback a symbol of faith or vengeance
Let it be clear if to light or darkness you pay allegiance
Don't make men victims of ploys up your sleeves
Meting out on them wrath as thieves
Suffering for invested trust
Reaping from it the dividend of disgust
To whom much is given, much is required
Even that which is sought, solicited and acquired
For the fulfilling of desire comes with position
Propositions, dispositions clamouring for your decision
And the old stream of a mind must be stretched
To a lake from which nourishment is fetched
Ask yourself why some lead and others follow
Is it the bait of the lender on those who borrow?
Is it charisma, wit, oration and charm
Is it the strength to which weakness submits to avert harm
Is it a fixed ordination of a bloodline from the beginning
Is it learnable of its intent, design and meaning
Think of God who is continually believed and defied
Yet all life and breath have on him always relied
Patient that they'll freely yield to Him without force
Ye must fashion your ways after this high course
For ye take a heavier cross than most men consider
So let the highest of character surpass the highest bidder
K. Muitherero.
In the entertainment field, I have a familiar face.
In movies and TV, I have been all over the place.
There are some memorable parts that I can call my own.
A doll named “Talky Tina” tripped me down the stairs in “The Twilight Zone”
I have been an actor for quite a few years back.
Most folks know me best as television’s “Kojak”.
Mr. David Gates has written a pretty song.
He and his group called “Bread” could do no wrong.
Their song went very high on Billboard’s charts.
The beautiful melody and lyrics won some hearts.
A lot of records have been sold by David Gates and Bread.
Perhaps the public would like to hear something else instead.
There’s another side of me most people don’t know.
I think it would be good to enter a recording studio.
I will do an oration with musicians and a chorus.
I have a feeling what I do will be fabulous.
If my recording gets some air time on the radio,
I believe my rendition will have far to go.
I got to perform my version on another television show.
My record will be going places; I know.
Lord! Why is it some folks consider it their solemn obligation,
To render unto me the details of their every operation?
No matter whence I go, I go with the expectation,
That about someone's operation I'll suffer an explanation!
Ah! To relax at the club for some stimulating conversation.
To enjoy an exquisite cigar and imbibe in a little libation!
But, invariably some feller launches an interminable dissertation,
Giving a blow-by-blow description of his latest operation!
I always ask for a window seat when making a plane reservation,
For a little solitude, for some musing and quiet meditation.
Usually, the little old lady next to me begins a long narration,
Describing more than I care to know about her delicate operation!
I enjoy walking and marveling at the beauty of God's Creation,
And along the way to sit awhile for some quiet contemplation.
Univited, some old geezer sits and begins a detailed oration,
Babbling on and on about his recent hernia operation!
Thought provoking tete-a-tetes fill me with exhilaration,
And I gain from such encounters insightful information.
But dad-gum it! Consarn it! And holy thunderation!
Please spare me the details of your every operation!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
“My Daddy’s profession is the highest!”…
bragged a boy during oration contest
“…He soars up above the sky
and that we cannot deny---
since he does fly as pilot in his best.”
“Indeed, my Father’s work ranks the greatest!”…
boasted next lad with his gesturing zest
“Pilots seek him --- not defy
they can’t lift their heads to sigh
favoring his barber’s cut, so finest.”
With our heavenly Father*, we are blest
Being His children, lovingly dearest
Never bidding us good bye
Lifting faith, trust and hope high
Settled in His compassion’s gracious nest.
*Ephesians 1:3 Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who hath blessed us with all spiritual blessings in heavenly places in Christ. (Third stanza added on March 2, 2022.)
March 2, 2021
4th place, "Two Limericks - Let's have some Fun!" Contest
Sponsored by Tania Kitchin; judged on 3/19/2021.