Long Paragraph Poems
Long Paragraph Poems. Below are the most popular long Paragraph by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Paragraph poems by poem length and keyword.
Throughout the years, I write and write
Didn't give much care whether wrong or right
For in my heart, all I really want is to share and inspire
I want this, so I find a way then try and try
I went to different blogs and websites
Really wanting post my reflections and insights
Across all the choices, I found this soup not of goodies
But a soup of poets and poetess, young and not so oldies
Submitting a one, two and three prose
Excited to see persons whom I arose
Encouraging to see such heartfelt posts
Of praises and comments, so inviting for a toast
"Word flow is quite unique, intense emotions", by Drake Eszes
"come join in a contest", Says a poet Destroyer but a silent builder
Good lucks, says Skat A maybe an "A's" on her poems
Thank you, thank you very much for the warm welcome
Of hugs across the globe and praises, I receive each time
On this love month of February, even past Valentine
Let me dedicate this composition, I hope just in time
To all writers: verse, haiku, couplets and rhymes etc
Short either a paragraph or to long poems
BY:
olive_eloisa
12:57 am
February 17, 2014
2nd place - tributes for the soupers' welcoming committee
I's DON'T C WRITE
mY I
Has seen
I have seen
The paragraph of my...
worst and my word do seem
To run along this parallel
Synonymatical so impractical
mY I's DON'T C WRITE
what's the use to know how to spell
The paragraph of my...
of my mind is intertwined within my life
and all the poets say
IT'S
IT'S ALRIGHT
YOU DON'T HAVE TO RHYME
IT'S
ALRIGHT
DON'T NEED TO SPELL RIGHT
JUST BECAUSE "mY I's DON'T C WRITE"
IMPROPER GRAMMAR
THUG LIFE
Throw that dictionary away
words are find
and so is mine I's
MY high school creative writing teacher would be so ashamed of mee
Na!
IT'S ALRIGHT
YOU DON'T HAVE TO RHYME
IT'S
ALRIGHT
DON'T NEED TO SPELL RIGHT
JUST BECAUSE "mY I's DON'T C WRITE"
1/8/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020©
When I was a young lad in elementary school,
I was an underachiever, and that wasn’t cool.
Not for my teachers, my parents, or classmates so cruel,
Echoing, “No, that’s wrong, do it again!”
But no matter how I strained, I just couldn’t win.
The pressure, the teasing, none of it helped.
My mind stayed off-track, my confidence shelved.
A big test tomorrow… what would I do?
Why bother studying? Why bother? What’s the use?
“You’ll strain your brain, go insane, and fail this one too.”
But I tried again, took out book, paper, and pen,
And made yet another attempt at my failing studying.
I don’t know how it happened, but suddenly it did:
I began to write in rhyme, every paragraph, every tidbit.
I took the printed words and reshaped them in time,
Rewriting, revising, turning lessons into rhyme.
And when it was time to sleep, the echoes filled my mind.
Soft rhythms drifting gently, leaving anxiety behind.
I hadn’t felt that relaxed in such a long time.
At my desk the next morning, pen at the ready,
My teacher placed the final exam before me, steady.
For the very first time, I looked at the test, smiled wide,
And tackled that sucker confidently, with nothing to hide.
Question after question, no hesitation, no fear,
Each answer flowed clearer with every idea.
Then came the essay… but all I could think was rhyme,
So I translated my verses into prose more aligned
With the average reader’s everyday mind.
“Time’s up. Pens down.” Tests collected, graded, stored.
Tomorrow we’d learn who’d move on, and who’d stay back one grade more.
The next morning my teacher returned each test one by one,
Praising some students loudly, scolding others when done.
Then she placed mine on my desk, staring at me in dismay.
“See me after class,” she said. “Something is wrong here today.”
She paused, confused, unsure what to say…
"Congratulations," she said to me suspiciously, “You got an A.”
On glossy pages generally reserved for stars of stage and screen
golden calves lounging casually on cushioned chaises, deities of decadence
sunlight streamed in black and white through filthy, filmy windows
as flies converged in the corners crawling over themselves in a frantic frenzy
I could hear their communal buzzing echoing in my ears
facing my own fears for my future
forcing myself to read past the first paragraph
Another photo followed, captured on the same sort of camera as the famous
The bathroom of the apartment one level below
black slime soaking through the ceiling, oozing down the walls like ectoplasm
congealing on the cold tiles, dripping in the sink
I could smell it in the ink
the sour, sickly sweet, pungently putrid scent of a slaughterhouse
The identity of the source of the gore from above
gleaned from the contents of his wallet
removed from his back pocket as he lay face down on the floor
by the thickly gloved hand of a man in a moon suit
He had been drawn to the city decades before searching for fame
to see his name on marquees
hoping his face would soon grace the covers of magazines
like the one I was currently reading
His neighbors knew nothing of him
describing their fellow dweller within the walls of the run down slum
as a silent ghost
rarely seen but for a moment before vanishing behind his door
as if he had condemned himself to solitary confinement for his failures
In the end no next of kin could be found
His ashes collected in a tin container sat on a shelf
in the city morgue for a year
before being dumped in a hole dug in the ground by a stranger with a spade
in a corner of a neglected cemetery
along with all the others who had died alone
unclaimed, unmourned, unrenowned
-
CIRCUMCISON-
Can’t image, imagine a cut off vision;
Eyes in tears, a placed hair;
Tween eye ball and a tear;
Circumcision
Circumcision is the spiritual and physical,
Removal of mankind’s fore sin,
Circumcision of the heart;
A sign of the covenant;
Circumcision
Between God and Abraham;
And every man signifies dedication,
Purification, unto God;
Circumcision
Sign of the Covenant;
Symbol of Purity and Separation;
"Circumcision of the Heart";
_______________________________
Words spoken once was thought
Laryngitis, dry throat can’t talk;
A paragraph cut down, to a sentence;
A sentence sliced to a phrase;
A phrase depicted dissected to a word now hazed;
All accompany to my surprise, can’t believe my eyes;
Adopted we share name not blood, yet we still be kin, human guised;
Adopted we share blood sinner;
Yet we still be kin, more than just fore Sin, foreskin;
We speak life, we smile we grin;
Evil people pollute the skies;
Tears run out my eyes, humanity circumcised;
Transition to New Covenant
Physical circumcision is not required for salvation.
That faith in Christ now fulfills this requirement,
The Holy Spirit in the heart replacing the physical cutting of the flesh
Evil people pollute the minds;
Tears run out my eyes, humanity ---circumcised;
2/26/26
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2026©
I opened it like a wound
unwrapping itself,
the envelope soft from time,
your name trembling
in a handwriting I had learned to forget.
You said sorry.
In ink, not voice.
In past tense.
As if my years of silence
were a thing you could fold
into a paragraph.
I had already buried you
in the quiet way people bury the living,
not with dirt,
but with detachment.
I built a home without you.
Pictured love without your shape.
Learned how to forgive
the air.
Now you say
you didn’t know what you were doing.
That if you could go back,
But there is no going back
when the girl I was
waited on doorsteps
that never opened.
This apology
arrives like snow in summer,
too late to nourish,
too late to matter,
still somehow cold.
I want to scream
at the kindness of your words.
How dare they sound like healing
when I already healed
crooked.
You should have come
when it would’ve broken me.
Instead, you arrive
when I have already
taught my scars
how to speak.
I don’t know
whether to forgive you
or mourn you.
Maybe I’ll do both.
Maybe that’s what elegies are for,
grieving not just what we lost,
but what could never
be repaired in time.
"It's beautiful and bright...
It's a heart humming in the night!"*
That is metaphorically speaking,
without an "as" or "like" leaking.
Originally spoken of a planet...
but what about a pomegranate?--
--selected for your midnight snack
from that day's grocery sack! :D
Could be anything you envision...
don't need the author's permission.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*First 2 lines were stated in:
"Stella Endicott and the Anything-Is-Possible Poem" :)
by Kate DiCamillo, illustrated by Chris Van Dusen.
I was inspired to begin it, by the very last paragraph:
" 'That's a very good description,' said Horace Broom.
'It sounds like it might be the beginning of a poem.' "
I was also inspired by their teacher, Miss Liliana, who exhorted:
"...a good way to begin an anything-is-possible poem is by thinking metaphorically." (pg. 7).
Then I took the "anything-is-possible" idea a little further...
Speak to me not in riddles, but with your truth, plain and uncomplicated
for there is no need for riddles when your thoughts are spoken with good intent
and their purpose is for well being and understanding
Speak to me not in angers potency, but after well contemplating its meaning and source
for a conversation held in anger cannot be presented with clarity of thought or deed
leaving possibility of tortured minds, or wounded hearts
Speak to me not with disrespect, but with honor and integrity
for I will not consider your words, or hold them as valid or worthy
unless, they are justified with decency
Speak to me not only with words, but with the language of your heart
for at times, there is no need of words
when one look can speak a paragraph, and one touch can say all that need be said
L.ruby Meyer
~Beautiful Bouquet Of Red Roses~
(Acrostic)
Beautiful bouquet of vibrant very lovely red roses
Elegant fragrant they're a gift from God above
A most romantic enchantingly soft delicate flower so very
Unique and beautiful in every single way
Their permeating perfume is truly a delight to my heart
Indeed their powerful presence is a bright sight to my eyes
Find them in a diverse array of colors, hues and names and all
Under a ton of their very exuberant unconcealed mythical celebrated charm and the
List of their endless variety just goes on and on
Roses are my very favorite flowers of all of them out there and
On this I can always honestly swear
Since they truly just amaze me and
Enthrall all of my heart and senses with all their unique loveliness and pure beauty.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2016
April.26.2016
Author's Notes:
An "Acrostic" is a poem or other form of writing in which the first letter, syllable or word of each line, paragraph or other recurring feature in the text spells out a word or a message. The word comes from the French "acrostiche" from post-classical Latin acrostichis.
I followed another rabbit hole this morning and stumbled upon this article from ‘The Atlantic. I won’t give you the author’s name, though I’m sure a quick search on google would reveal it. There was a line in the 4th paragraph that reads, “They always bend a knee”, ‘he reportedly told someone.’ When we hear complaints about ‘fake news’ or ‘yellow journalism’ this is exactly what they mean. I don’t know about you, but back in my day any fact had to be double checked and verified. A reporter couldn’t just make stuff up. This guy didn’t even bother to hide it. He could have at least made up some fake name and say, according to Remo Rastinhouse. The problem is, as modern Americans, 50 percent of us will believe him. See how easy it was for me to create that fact.
Our pres. Joe Biden
reportedly told someone
send me your money