Long Panels Poems
Long Panels Poems. Below are the most popular long Panels by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Panels poems by poem length and keyword.
April and the clocks forward spring,
our cricket practice gets in full swing.
Nets to untangle from their poles,
players to call and enrol.
Gang mowers to grease and oil,
the team kit-bag to disembroil.
Green stained pads to whiten bright,
fixture lists to expedite.
Mend the sight screen's rickety panels,
coax another season from my flannels.
Wash and iron the umpire's coats,
the score-box to creosote.
Tea urns to scour,crockery to rinse and clean..
a team captain's tasks routine,and unseen.
Cricketers good,indifferent,unsung,
across this land in a timeless sport played for fun.
O wind, have you been waiting?
O widow, wailed for long?
O wasteland, silver plating?
O will within, burn strong!
Nicker, wicker, ichor.
Fate, Fortune, fancy-free.
Blood of heart, run thee thicker!
Gibbous moon, smile at me!
Golem, shall we pack the bags?
Well, we're wearing rags.
Singularity, smile a-sags?
He who loses, brags.
Yes, and when we older grow:
Carrion feeds the crow?
Lava bursts from, volcano?
Unsteady its flow!
Elder race, did you leave trace?
Basalt towers. Doors.
Panels in the sky, thy face.
Falcon? How she soars.
Weapons wild electrical!
Blast them through the drains!
O causality, thy call!
Wait not for the rains!
Rematch. Planned. Numerous. Strong.
Eyes of glass, thy spark.
O eruptions, last thee long!
Help them fear the dark!
Chaos, steps of pyramid.
Ancient orb thrown down.
Forbidden zone? It got rid!
King without a crown...
Triton:
We are here for the gathering,
For the awakening of our nearest stars.
We care little of what the other has to say.
We only want what's best for ourselves.
Nereid:
I've been dust-flexing for many suns now.
I grow weaker with each turn.
My level of solitude in the white realm, though,
Never feels burdensome
Naiad:
These are all things to consider
Loops threading our thoughts,
Like the music, we are waves and
Vibrations.
Thalassa:
Ssshhhhh
I am trying to sleep and
There are no more secrets anymore anyway
We are stuck out here in
Wonder and contentment
I contend to nap!
Despina:
Huusshhhhh...
Because silence is our friend
There's been no meteors,
No blurring debris for ages!
Let us be thankful...
Larissa:
I am thankful that I have you
And me,
And I'm thankful to feel thankful,
Though panels from other realms keep falling--
We are changing!
Proteus:
I will recite something I heard
right before my last collision:
You're going to get hit again and again
And again and you're just gonna have to learn to take it.
(Ahem). That's how I feel, I guess.
Galatea, Shepherd Moon, floated
Akimbo to the Milky Way,
Listening to the noise of the others
Listening to a universe of lovers.
What I'd like to give you is
an ounce of my perfume;
not what you may be thinking of,
but you will find out soon.
A special place that I recall
from childhood long ago,
where I would often go and sit
and always loved it so.
It was the walk-in closet
in my mother's big bedroom.
Trying on her clothes amidst
that special, sweet perfume.
Such happiness and peaceful times
I often spent in there-
with smelling cedarwood perfume
that drifted through the air.
The panels of fine cedarwood
had lined her closet well;
and all her clothes, accessories,
held the fragrant smell.
Though not akin to the perfume
you'd normally think of;
the smell of cedar brings me home-
to my dear mother's love.
September 28, 2021
~1st Place~
Premiere Contest: Bring Me Home
Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose
Judged: 10/04/2021
(revised for this contest
from a former, shorter poem
posted 2/22/2018)
Struggling to stay on top
He looked to the. Future
Evaluating his gains
and slighted through
Several possiblitys
Which might makest
All who labor in this
Types of endeavors
Chore less
Reduce the risks
Eliminate challenges
And profit
He designed a
Fencing system
That was sturdy enough
To fennce in his hogs while they grazed
And a mobile barn with six axles
That housed the. Animals
At night and during weather
Events.tge floor was heated in winter
With a wood furnace and ventilated
With water that was pressurized
It could be moved by truck or ttacter
The PTO of the tracter to be used
To power the watering system
To keep the animals were the cameras
Could watch the hogs
The PTO used. To
And used to extend or retract
The fencing on both ends
bared wire was used in the middle
Or the solar panels powers
The equipment in the tower
Where the hand could reside his watch
Over the grazing hogs
seemingly undeniable certitude and conviction
handle hinges slats panels lock and key
maybe a cat flap for escape towards illusions
a trap door of revolving gates
sometimes we are framed by cemented beliefs
of what remains perspective and opinion
seeking for external validations
we fail to search for what is inside
stay on the threshold of immobility
minds need lubricating agents
rust prevention or sometimes a chisel
to determine what certainty is
a conundrum delusion of impermanence
which steals happiness and adventure
of open-minded investigation
there are moments however
when we can crawl out of a window
or simply break through walls
self-made incarceration is futile
and the chains shackling us
are the ones we crafted ourselves
It seems it takes reams of paperwork to get things done nowadays.
You can become so snarled in red tape that it'll leave you in a daze!
I wonder how Noah would've coped with such onerous fiddle-faddle,
Had panels and boards been involved to design for him a simple paddle!
Did he have building codes and hordes of bureaucrats to appease,
Or pesky environmentalists hugging the gopherwood trees?
Was there an OSHA lurking about enforcing inane regulations?
Such balderdash would've added to his heap of frustrations!
Was an ASPCA "watchdog" there fretting about all the creatures,
Insisting that cages and stalls have the latest comfort features?
Was their a labor union hovering nigh demanding a living wage?
Such piffle would've launched Noah into a towering rage!
Had Noah heeded those who showered him with sneer and scorn,
Or had he drowned in seas of red tape to stifle his Godly bourne,
He might've been discouraged and cancelled the whole affair.
That could've spelled doom for humankind right then and there!
But Noah's Boss, that Master Architect superintending from Above,
Gave Noah the specifications and a not too gentle shove!
Noah, Japheth, Ham and Shem hustled and the Ark soon took shape.
'Twas built on schedule, with no cost overruns and no red tape!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Things are quiet when I’m so far away,
No one can hear what I say,
And the sun sets in blue along the horizon,
By the end of each glorious day,
On this little red planet made of iron and dust,
This planet I now call my home,
This quiet bare land where no man has been,
Just me here living alone,
With my batteries for life, solar panels for food,
I wander around oh so slow,
I’ve learnt how to live on this uninhabited land,
And my mind it’s learning to grow,
So I wrote my own book about my beautiful life,
Being sent here down from the stars,
How I set everything up on this remotest of places,
I’m the robot called Adam on Mars.
neatly bound, so neatly aligned,
glistening blue, in perfect rows,
labelled in gilded gold letters,
wisdom packed many printed books,
from left to right a thousand years,
travel time, flick history pages,
cookery across in next aisle,
vegan diets or gourmet meals,
climb the stairs, if fiction you like,
crime, romance, dreams or adventure,
varnished panels, shelves glisten clean
intellects seek fodder anew!
some stand to gaze just vacant blank,
some read a page to judge the brew,
some come to pick a gift to give,
some spend time until train arrives,
I went to sit at corner bench,
because I knew she would be there,
amidst the smell of reams of books,
we held hands, read each other’s hearts!
scholars came there who were many,
none wiser to our love story!
N/A
written 08/03/2021
Kai Michael Newman sponsored
Bookshop poetry contest
8 syllables each line.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I. Blankness
empty page awaits—
a silent, hungry canvas.
first word breaks the dawn.
II. Alchemy
black ink spills like night
across the field of pure white—
stars bloom into tales.
III. Echo
letters fade to ghosts
on brittle, yellowed paper...
new eyes give them breath.
*Note: This is a triptych poem (similar to a tercet). A triptych poem is a poetic form consisting of three distinct yet related sections or stanzas, often exploring a common theme or narrative. This structure allows the writer to present layered ideas, similar to how a triptych in visual art features three connected panels. (source: brevitymag.com)