Long Pages Poems
Long Pages Poems. Below are the most popular long Pages by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pages poems by poem length and keyword.
The raw delight and
wonder of an eager
child-poet lay scattered
across the floor.
A baby's coo squeals from
the aging pages babbling
forth childish nonsense while
tired cliches wind lazily through
trite rhymes lacking lyrical luster.
Still, each precious verse endears
me to the memory of a precocious
youth when poetry was simple
and an unspoiled world
lay bare age old secrets
calling out to be discovered.
Author's commentary:
I don't remember what inspired me to write my first poems, but there was always something about
language. Something profound, something powerful, something pure.
I had no natural talent, and thankfully I didn't know it for I might have given up.
But eventually, and by sheer accident, I pieced together something that worked proving
poetry is not reserved solely for those with the predisposition but is also born of
passion, study, and discipline.
It was 15 years of frustration and tears as poem after bad poem was ripped to shreds by
seasoned writers with invaluable, albeit sometimes harsh, advice before I created anything
worthy of being read. But I am in love with poetic art so have persevered with humility
and gratitude in the face of rejection until finding a rhythm of my own. And though a bit
of time may sometimes pass before I am moved to write again, the words eventually spill
forth, and with a bit of luck and ingenuity, I will write a profound piece of insightful
prose stirring pride in the hearts of my mentors whose opinions I hold so dear.
For me, it has never come easy but with a deep-rooted love for the art and an obsession
for one day authoring a single, perfect verse, I hope to be unified in spirit with the
ghosts of poets past inspiring and encouraging others to keep the craft alive.
Raindrops falling on windowpane
cloudy grey sky with lightning vein
Upon close look, a lilac hue
and tiny pockets found of blue
Rainy days tempt poets to write
of roses in bloom, stars at night;
of golden leaves as Autumn fades,
or shadows found in dappled shades
Dawn that breaks with pure golden skies,
adds crimson touch as a surprise.
deepened sunset paints scarlet hues,
touch of iris in purple-blues.
Nature's watercolor pages
filled with poems for the ages--
words that poets find to capture
nature's most glorious rapture.
Nature
April 1, 2022
form L-LAY New Poetry Contest
by Constance La France
How Many Syllables.com
FIRST PLACE!
This is a poem about nothing because the weight on my shoulders is just to much sometimes at 5 o'clock
And by 5:01 with my arms holding you I get so lost in space the stars lose there shine
So, to find my location in a lost world I would always look into your evergreen eyes, a forever beauty that could guide the blind to see again
This poem is white pages that read without words as your kiss makes every part of me numb
So, I read between the lines to find these feelings I'm chasing trying to catch a favorable reality
And no matter what is going on in the atmosphere thoughts of you seem to rest in the bed of my mind
Like after the first date, my body left you, but my memories stayed behind making me miss you even more
I call you beautiful every chance I get so when my arms can't hold you my words can take their place
Wherever you leave my place smudges of dark burgundy stay on my clothes because when our lips stick... Together all my feelings rush with yours
Then, I told her kiss me fast because no speed limit can slow me down when our lips crash, and know that this is no accident
Then kiss me faster because any time that exist while your lips are apart from mine is too much, like I'm late to the meeting at 5:02
There is so much going on in this waning world that sometimes it's nice to just exist in nothing, because nothing does not always have to be negative
So, when I say this piece is nothing I mean these words describe the calmness, escape, and wings you give me every time we are together
p.s. this poem is about nothing because if I have you I need nothing else...
I lost myself inside the book
Turning pages as I take a look
For the real me has seized to exist
Transformation forms making a list
I lost myself in the lines
Got caught up with all the rhymes
Time and place runs in one line
Is it someones life or mine
If I am lost can I be found
Can this be completely unwound
Can I turn back to my former self
Or did that person get put on a shelf
I looked but could not find
In the book that seemed to bind
Facts or fiction became the same
Is that me or am I to blame
Or is that the other half of me
One that you only glimpse and see
Did I change over the course of time
Leaving the former half behind
10/17/13
No more waiting for a cue,
I step into the spotlight, the script unwritten but mine, the hero of my own unfolding story.
The plot twists are mine to navigate, the victories mine to celebrate. When doubt knocks, I answer with courage; when fear whispers, I roar with resolve. My story is vibrant, raw, and relentlessly mine.
So watch me rise, watch me write, watch me live fully—because this is my tale, told boldly and beautifully, every step a declaration: I am the main character of my life.
I hold the pen; I craft the narrative that defines who I am.
I make is a verse in my poem, every step a line in my script. The plot twists? I write them
This story is mine to own—no extras, no understudies. I speak loud, act bold, and live with purpose because being the main character means walking forward with courage, carving my path with confidence.
I am more than just a player in life’s theater—I am the author, director, and hero all at once. This is my story, and I’m ready to live it fiercely, unapologetically, and authentically.
My electronic pen as drunk as a blind bat rattles along the virtual pages of my computer trying to make sense of its staggering direction,
Not knowing which word will next come out of its nib, mainly keeping a balance, endeavoring not to topple over, or to make scrawling blotches on its whitened board.
It is interesting that one can surmise the demise of a pen, by checking the balance of ink life that remains. However if the pen is drunk it will display uneven levels of ink life as it rocks and staggers across fallen white leafs destined to change color.
Many a writer has become an idea dwarf. Hence, what is called writer’s block, sets in. I have found myself down that street a few times and have exercised my drunken pen’s syndrome option to its fullest.
Nothing quite like it though, as this form of writing makes no sense to the closed minded reader, but a satisfactory opt out when the writer’s mind is blocked, to resort to using their drunken pen.
This is a rewrite, because I am firing blanks and this says it all.
Relax Your Mind
Take your time and a sip of wine, relax your mind and place across my lap feet so fine.
Lay on cushions your heavy head and start to unwind, tell me your fears and how the day has been. I’ll remove your shoes one at a time and gently massage each toe.
Caress each ankle and help ease your stress, listen to tales of woe and how people can be so cruel.
Work your calf’s softly like a baker, release the muscles as you stretch out further, a little moan will escape as you start to float like cotton blown on a breeze.
Refill your glass and continue, as you regale me with stories of how you filled the day, make my way up your thighs one by one inch by inch kneading not pinching as you close your eyes in silent ecstasy.
Take an empty hand and play with each finger, you smile a smile feeling as the warmth works up your cheeks.
The sweet smell of honey suckle, strawberries and summer times that have gone and yet to come fill the air, turn you over slowly like the pages of my favourite book, I kiss your neck and move my gentle hands carefully touching tender soft skin.
Release the tension in shoulders now laid bare, up and down I travel each part of arms that held me in the morning asking to be touched, yearning for the feeling like a rose begs for the rain.
After the meal cooked at home, lovingly prepared lead you to the room dimly lit by rose infused candles and bubbles warm, invite you to soak and just drift away.
Warm robe awaits to cuddle you so snug and tightly, I kiss lips coated in sweet fruit from the vine, touched by the angels so soft and divine.
At last, lay you down to rest ensconced under comfy covers, lay beside you and watch you sleep so safe and soundly.
By
Patrick D
Linda-Marie wrote her last poem January 30, 2013. She knew
she was dying when she wrote it and her poem begins . . .
"Floating through a corridor between two different Worlds"
________________________
Rest in peace Linda-Marie, the sweetheart of Poetry Soup,
When I think of you I weep and then I must smile;
You were such a good friend to me and a great poet too,
So thoughtful, so warm and such compassion for all.
With you by my side this journey was so joyful for me,
We found out we shared so many of life's hardships;
No two were ever so much alike and so much different,
We were poetic sisters, our bond is still and eternal.
Like a budding flower our friendship was slow to bloom,
Then like a perfect rose it was such a beautiful thing;
And we would always say no matter where life took us,
We would be and then God took you home with him.
When I thought of you, I erased the miles that separate,
You were always near to my heart, my mirror reflection;
Always poetically creative, oh how we shared our poetry,
Happiness and joy you always gave to me, dear heart.
With strength and determination I will go on to tomorrow,
Your rose petals still touch me to soothe my tears;
And your sweet poems still grace the pages of Poetry Soup,
You left us your gift of words that will linger for years.
You suffered thorns in this life and now you are at peace,
You are an angel spirit drifting who fills my weeping soul;
Linda-Marie you were the essence of a beautiful friend to me,
We were sisters in poetry, you and me were like one.
And her very last line of poetry written . . .
"Eternity is awesome with unending interlude."
_____________________________________
August 02, 2015
Poetry/Verse/My Friend, Linda-Marie
Copyright Protected, ID 08-1477-690-02
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Tribute,
sponsor, Silent One, Judged 08/2015
First Place
Submitted to the Standard contest, Friendship
sponsor, Beata Augustin, Judged 08/08/2022
First Place
If my life was a book
It would be the scattered pages
Left behind
And I've tried picking them up
And piecing them together
But so much of the narrative
Has been lost forever
People I've known
And people I've loved
Stole pages when they left
Leaving behind
An incoherent mess
But still I try
To make sense of it all
But all the while
I'm still writing new chapters
It's just not the same
When too many characters disappear
The plot loses focus
And as the main character
I've lost all motivation
Living each day to get to the next
Always surviving
But never thriving
If my life was a book
It would be the scattered pages
Left behind
And I'm tired of sequels
Take me back
To the prequel please
I picked up Grandma’s recipe book the other day…the one she made just for me…written in her own hand and filled with my favorite recipes.
On the first page of my cookbook…these words…always waiting for me…
‘It’s easy to be a good cook’ she wrote, ‘just follow the recipe!’
As I leafed through the pages in Grandma’s recipe book…hopping from recipe to recipe…I realized I was also leafing through pages of my memory.
I feel blessed to have Grandma’s recipes…blessed she taught me how to cook…
and blessed for the one recipe…she didn’t have write down in my book.
It was her recipe for living…this one I know by heart…
so I will never leave out an ingredient…never forget a part…
Find some moments every day…she taught…to enjoy this life you’re living…
discover the pleasures in a smile and the comfort of forgiving.
Take a walk in silence…you don’t have to travel very far…
to witness the beauty of the trees…or the wonder of the stars.
Laugh and play and work with your heart…your soul…your mind…
and never miss an opportunity to be gentle…to be kind
Stop and smell the flowers…play with babies…marvel at rainbows in the sky…
and always save room after every meal…for a cookie…or some pie.
I’ve memorized her recipe for living…it’s the road in life I took…
and when I’m hungry for a cookie or a pie…no problem…
I have Grandma’s recipe book.
Knowing how to live and what to cook have always been easy for me…
all I have to do is follow Grandma’s recipe.