Long Paragon Poems
Long Paragon Poems. Below are the most popular long Paragon by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Paragon poems by poem length and keyword.
The following initially crafted approximately three and a half years ago and presently brought a much sought after surge of satisfaction while meandering along the information superhighway.
Panglossian Perspective
Pivoting Poze Pretentiously
Pacific, pacifist pampered papa
parading par excellent paragon
parent (parenthetically parochial
particularly partisan) parvenu
passive, passionately paternalistically patient,
paunchy, peaceably pepped, perfectionist,
perceptive, perennially perky, permissively
persevering, persistently personable,
perspicuous, pertinent, phenomenally philanthropic, philharmonic
picturesquely pious, pioneering, piquantly pithy,
playfully pleasant, pleasurably plucky, plummy,
poetically poignant, politely pontificating, popular,
positively potent, powerfully practiced pragmatist,
praiseworthy, prayerfully precious, precise
predominant, preeminently preferable, preparedly
preponderant, presently president, prestigiously
prevailing, priceless, princely, principally pristine,
privately privileged, prized,
proactively procreative,
prodigiously productive, proficiently profitable,
progressively prominent, promisingly prompt,
prophetically propitious, prospectively protective,
proudly proven provocative,
prudently psyched, puissant,
punctilious, punctually purposeful pygmy.
My muse is gone,
good riddance to the witch
And don’t come back,
you extraneous lil b’itch
Off to prey on others,
pour napalm on their souls
Sublimate good poetry,
burn stanzas full of holes
Infiltrate kind minds,
corrupt joyous prayer
Tear apart covenants,
seed corrugated despair
Yeah my muse is gone,
in search of new hosts
To spread vile poison,
through every new post
I’m an angel once again,
deliverance fills each line
A paragon for good,
no more evil rhymes
Champion of the soup,
clear broth I’ll deliver
Served with fava beans,
Chianti, and my muses liver
# Her name is Clarice #
By
David Kavanagh
For love we try to do wonders,
Only to make our happy endings real.
We fight for it no matter what happens,
Thinking it to be worth the cost.
But is love that hard?
Actually it's not.
Actually it's us and the people we love who makes it look hard.
But the right person will make you feel like a cake walk.
I am sure one day you will meet someone,
Who will actually nudge you on the right path and will give you the best advice.
All of a sudden your life becomes simple,
And starts making sense just because of that person.
I know we romanticize other's love story or a movie or poetry,
But in their case love actually never arrived so easily.
Because life is all about trials and errors.
You just have to wait for the right time and right person to appear in your life.
When someone's really into you,
You don't have to beg for their attention or anything.
Nothing needs to be forced when someone genuinely loves you.
They will be there for you even if they aren't around you.
I know sometimes things will be hard on you,
But I also believe that you will find your way out,
And it will easily be forgettable in front of the person you love.
In short you will live and not survive.
Love is beautiful,
Love is magical.
Love finds peace when you look at your lover's eyes.
Love hopes you to be a Paragon for other's love story.
The rotten apple in the cart,
And lowest of the low,
A waste of space, a waste of time,
And not a joy to know,
A heartless witch, a nasty troll,
A trouble-making shrew,
The creature from the Black Lagoon,
And pile of doggy do,
A hateful, wicked bag of slime,
A monster hated for all time.
The mould was broken at her birth,
This angel, dear and sweet,
This blossom, delicate and fair,
Refined from head to feet,
This paragon of virtue glows,
A pearl before the swine,
A perfect rose amongst the thorns,
Champagne compared with wine,
A treasure trove, a swan, a dove,
And saintly lady filled with love.
For Vie’s Let me have it, then kiss my petunia contest
I spent all day shopping for a ruby,
it's my wife's birthstone; nothing else will do.
And I wish to find a true paragon,
though flawless rubies are scarce and few.
I'm hoping for a pigeon-blood red gem
that is as rare and unblemished as she.
And I checked each jewelry shop in town,
but that perfect jewel eluded me.
I was almost ready to give up, when
I spied a cabochon that caught my eye.
A magnificent, resplendent gemstone,
so exquisite, I couldn't pass it by.
Flickering fiery flames frozen in time,
rubies symbolize passionate feelings.
And imbue wearers with a zest for life,
granting favors in romantic dealings.
When I gave my wife the ruby, she wept
tears of joy and wrapped her arms around me.
And culminating with the sweetest kiss
fantasy morphed into reality.
(Quatrain)
07/06/2020
I saw her just yesterday, the paragon
Of all that a woman could be. Tall and tan,
Proud and proper, short hair, not butch,
A beautiful woman dressed to the nines,
Dripping confidence like an empress.
A lessor man would have ran and hid
For surely this was a lady
And would have no need for a man.
I offered a sincere compliment
Fully expecting an icy reply
If afforded one at all. For my trouble,
Her face lit up like a prom queen,
Flashing me a smile that warmed my soul.
Gracious and appreciative, I saw this woman anew.
She was beautiful inside
And could not hide it on her countenance.
I could hold a door for this lady as she understands
That a simple act of respect cannot make her less,
Any more than her grace makes me less than I am.
Oh modern woman, is respect what you want?
Don’t demand it, Command it!
This is not a zero-sum game, Ladies!
You cannot, No, must not trade your feminity,
The best of your womanhood, for your worthy goals.
You can be beautiful without being synthetic;
Demure without being the prude;
Strong without being brusque;
Accept help without becoming dependent;
Be natural but not a sloven;
Flirtacious without being easy.
Confident but not cocky;
You can melt men like butter.
You hold all the cards!
Now, let’s get you that respect!
For William
There’s a rainbow in the sky
That wasn’t there before,
Special blueness in the ocean
As it rushes to the shore.
There’s a bright new shining star
Above the breathless trees
And I hear a haunting melody-
Indian flutes along the breeze.
His spirit, loosed from fetters
That held him to this earth,
Soars free of mortal chains
To experience new birth.
Now one with all of nature
In the music of the spheres,
He’s a part of all the things
He cherished so when here.
The works he did will never die -
For his memory lives on.
In the hearts of all he knew
He was the paragon.
Innocently, I peeked outside of Eden's gate,
curious to the outcome of Adam and Eve's fate.
Shocked when I saw him wearing a large fig leaf,
a precursor to men's underwear, called 'the brief.'
I beseeched Mother Nature for a gust of wind
and prayed that would not be considered a sin,
but all she delivered was a gentle little breeze.
That was enough to make me fall to my knees.
A flash of his verile manhood was all it took
to make me sigh and then take another look.
Suddenly, I was filled with libidinous desire,
gasping when the wind lifted the leaf a bit higher.
I held my breath, trying not to make any noise,
but I've never been a paragon of grace and poise.
"Who are you?" he said, "What do you want?"
I'm just admiring the fig leaf you proudly flaunt.
No, I didn't really say that. I couldn't speak at all.
I simply admired his physique. Gosh, he was tall!
My cheeks grew warm from the heat of a blush,
and I yearned to touch his bronze skin. What a rush
that would be, but I just stood there like a fool.
I mumbled something silly. Something about a tool.
What could I do after disgracing myself like that?
I offered him a fig leaf, saying, "Thanks for the chat."
If there's a moral to this story, it shouldn't be told,
at least not until I'm either senile or insanely bold.
No man I've ever met since seeing Adam's worth
has measured up to him, not in length nor in girth.
I shouldn't share my tale, but it was a sight to see,
and if you'd been there, you would have to agree.
I planted a fig tree, and through years gone by,
no leaves were large enough to cover Adam's guy.
April 2, 2022
This or That, Vol 11 Contest
Sponsored by Edward Ibeh
Fig Leaf Theme
He wished it to be full of sound.
round about the way successful
collaborations are done.
Fun: done: and Right.
Sought of like taking the featured
artist's position and elaborating on it.
People still love rock, urban
contemporary grooves
and soulful bassey pieces.The stigma
around marriage
seems to cause discussion.
Is it good news? The two lovers united:
or one lover and one willingful participant.
Or one eager and one uneagerly: but willing
to be. A new position appointed by the direction
of the evolution in sequence. from
stranger to friend to lover
to fiancce?fiancé: then to wife or husband.
WeIrDO. than non be alienated through such
sequence.
Six saxophones
11 bass instruments
a rhythm section
the motif uses two classic guitars.
A 1939 English Clifford Essex Paragon
and a Bass Alembic Series
He Brazen I'm Kabosh
we are Kings of the Coliseum!
The Grand Inspector sings
and the
Brazen Serpent commands.
The Indirect passing reference.
The first non-funeral I ever heard about was for a relative I had never wanted to claim.
She was an evil-soul, mean-spirited, a cruel paragon of human non-virtue.
When I was a child I would have rather visited the dentist,
and I probably have the worst, sorest teeth in the universe
so that is spelling it out.
She had specifically asked for no funeral, and this was decades before non-funerals were popular.
I knew why.
She had alienated the neighbors, and the relatives,
and I mean ALL the relatives, and some of us are particularly
impossible to alienate.
In lieu of a funeral, there was a reception for her.
It was attended by four people.
Her two children, one whom she had treated horribly,
a drinking buddy, who was inebriated, and possibly on something else,
and my sister who does not count as she is a ghoul about funerals,
excited to add this to her amazing I-go-to-every-funeral-in-this-town
count which at that time was in the six thousand range.
I was in town that day, sitting in a chair, pointedly not going to this non-funeral.