Long Paragraphs Poems
Long Paragraphs Poems. Below are the most popular long Paragraphs by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Paragraphs poems by poem length and keyword.
Introductory highlights
Paragraphs and blah-blah-blah;
Final period
~~~~~~~~~
Sad eyes
Staring a straight blank;
Tear tinged mascara
~~~~~~~~~
On this mountain
A scenic panorama;
Valley undertakings
~~~~~~~~~
Warning signage:
Do Not Enter --
Police investigation
~~~~~~~~~
Young couple
Lovely-dovely;
Fleeting distractions
~~~~~~~~~
Sorrow and pain
Etch good paintings;
Come let's create
~~~~~~~~~
All in due time
Echoes shout;
Chaos configures
~~~~~~~~~
Harsh reality
Nothing nice to say;
Live and let live
~~~~~~~~~
Joy in your eyes
Posture of bliss;
Hunger manifests
~~~~~~~~~
Going on a trip
So much to do;
Discard anxiety
~~~~~~~~~
Love speaks
No words needed;
Touch and glimpse
~~~~~~~~~
Joy sings
Sorrow weeps;
Life unfurls magic
~~~~~~~~~
No words
No pictures;
Nothing
~~~~~~~~~
Song for my soul
Words incomplete;
Vibrant music
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
23 April 2015
Singapore
In between the doubts and tears forms a founded thought…
scribbles on an old shipyard memo pad
tapping the inside of my skull, waking me…even though I don’t sleep,
offering a collection of dots and dashes to interpret
There are times in a man’s life when he knows he is sane…
Following the lines on an unpaved road
Crossing center without moving a muscle
Drinking from the fountain that bleeds rejoice
It is in these moments that he understands…
and removes the stupidity that has clothed him in rags
opens his eyes to what truly makes him happy,
breaks free of those past tense chains that bound him
What mattered does and what didn’t still doesn't…
When thumbing through crooked paragraphs
and finding that the phrases he thought he lost
were dangling from every crumbled page…waiting
Time does move in slug path wanderings…
Sidewalks glisten in zigzag designs
Drying in the mid day sun as
minutes appear as miniature renditions of the future
And as this time does slowly find me…
I extend my heart in fluttering palpitations of hope
strike the match on promises that I know I can keep
attempting to quell the flames of the past by swearing…never again.
When I was young I read a book
my hero was in there.
The book I'm sure, you've read yourself
about… 'Rupert the Bear'.
But my hero was not Rupert,
nor his Mother, nor his Dad.
Not even all the wizards or
the creatures Rupert had.
My hero was the poet
who turned all the words to rhyme.
Beneath the comic pictures
that ran with the storyline.
This was also wrote in paragraphs,
as all good books should be.
But the rhyming explanations
were the things that captured me.
I'm sure my admiration
for the muse behind the lines.
Was my earliest perception
of the power of simple rhymes.
So now I'm a rhyming poet
and my head will always fit.
My feelings and emotions
into words that rhyme a bit.
So forgive me if I bore you,
when my rhyming's always there.
It's not my fault.....
I'm brainwashed…. by that pesky little bear!
Ivor G Davies
Thy gaze; like those Persian spears full in flight,
Thrust 'n us to see the tales in those brown eyes -
Shimmers, like powdered silver beneath sunlight
Are the paragraphs and verses of her life.
Joyous to behold, yet more than I can praise,
Alike a constellation within one’s face.
Did part of the universe fall down to earth?
To wield breath as whom I behold in your-self?
Or are you instead our Creator’s template -
That left the heavens and on earth found a place?
The seeming absence of everyone so,
In every moment that your eyes to me would throw -
Those Persian spears great in their flight and craft
To stir this bloke who like so had loved a lass.
Like so had loved, like so started with a craze,
Alas, from whence died down after each day,
Until all that lay left was me in fetters
Soul and body, so was scourged who let her.
I would pretermit this ardour at all costs
For my mind (impaired) had offered but one choice.
You’re beautiful still, still more than I can praise
But ‘bout your fervour, please look another way.
Just Around the Bend…
by Odin Roark
Make-believe knows
Hand in hand
Guardian and child
Never ceases to be
As words meet words
Sentences find paragraphs
Pages turn new discovery
Begetting chapter upon chapter
And then…
Often faith’s endurance knows no end
Like a turkey too numb
To know its head is gone
Or a truck forever stuck in relentless mud
Even the mind’s conscience ratchets its continuous drone
Long past heart’s flickering pictures
Have jumped off sprocket
Coiling images’ remains upon a floor
Always willing to catch the fallen
Knowing restarting is always possible
Yet
In the house
That might have been a home
The phone continues to ring off the hook
Like a metronome gone berserk
Bent on satiating rhythm’s appetite
Past the inevitable wind down
With eyes closed…
Survival holds firm one’s make-believe castle
The house now empty
Save for whispers from the past
Knowing well the drafts of loneliness
Shiver the drifting dust
Becoming the only skin left to touch
Unknowingly
The residual past
Moves through unneeded locks
Once securing doors leading to
Now forgotten passions of privacy
Images rendered blind
By keyhole mockery
Remaining…
The heart’s keyboard
Once delivering its voice of hope and trust
Now accelerating words no longer noticed
Meaning hurtling past yesterday and tomorrow
Like a bullet train screeching off its rails
Ricocheting off walls once holding secure
Now speeding toward a boarded-up station
Once of hourly expectation
A platform crowded with promise
Giving back a passing ghostly blur
So travel hearts in linguistic search
Myth makers pursuing beautiful language
Knowing delivery never guarantees
Anyone waiting to hear the words
Save perhaps the make-believe child
Walking hand in hand
Believing along with the writer
That just around the bend…
Awakening the Dream
by Odin Roark
Even in a dream
A poet’s page
Starts blank
Restlessly
The inscrutable pen hovers
Awareness preparing absorption
Like a dry valley of nature
Awaiting tributaries to ripple convergence
A lake to be
Remaining patient
Unaddressed questions resurface
Even as pebbles hamper flow once again
Rocks demand navigation
And boulders bent on containment
Concede the rush into reservoirs
Expression’s pause
Ellipsis of control
Fails holding back the surge of ink to paper
As grammar’s first trickle bodes further volume
Restless verbs urge images forward
A tide of willingness waits
Wanting complete its existence
Around mind’s shoreline
Animation commences cautiously
Needing to quench
Parched wanderings
Staying ever mindful
Poisoning is often invisible
Unexpectedly
This once empty page
Experiences a downpour
Cooling passion’s vacillating temperatures
Into pastels of emotion
Urging hard layered resistance
Into malleable thought
Pauses and stops
Commas and periods
Paragraphs of reason and compassion
Flow freely
Like spillways of a dam
For some
The purge of resolve
Often disappoints
How delicate such a dream
Excruciating at times
Often revealing once invisible sentences
To correct lingering mistakes
Awakening retains echoes
The waning past remaining familiar
Like battlefields of regret
Unpunctuated sentences
Forever fragments of one’s war
Such a dream’s ending
Always makes known
The expectant pen
Forever willing to just be held
Demanding nothing
Merely to remain
A trusted friend
Knowing at times…
It is the only friend
Description, O my diatribe?
Stand before the court!
O comedians, with thy jibe!
Paragraphs to sort!
Where is hope on gallows hill?
Couldn't be real sure.
Yellow priestess, queen until?
Revelation tour.
Humble as a humbug?
Pride raises high the pain.
Dancers, rhythm! Cut a rug!
Doom is to disdain!
Death, thy destiny. Live free.
Placards of the plea.
O ye angels, come for tea!
Demons, how about ye?
Tyrant of deep waters?
Alliance Black Abyss.
Daughters, commit slaughters!
No one we will miss!
Rivers, needing rivets?
O lampreys, rub thy ribs.
Deadly are such divots!
Just nibble on the nibs!
Unify the endless hordes?
Bid them sharpen swords!
Watercress, thy water boards!
Mother Sin, thy gourds...
"Every struggle in my life has been a lesson and made me stronger."
Quote by _Constance La France
He says I don't remember what he says, nor do I listen to him
Well, of his sharing our past I am filled to the brim
All those words, phrases, sentences, paragraphs flow
Daily he talks and talks doesn't even a little slow
I lived the same life as him, genuinely some things I desire to forget
Because undoubtedly for neither of us are they an asset
First Vaasokht
Written: 11/14/2022
Theme: Introspection
Sponsor: Constance La France
Contest: Writing Challenge "V" Forms
6-line rhyming poem about the faults of a lover
(We are getting older, living in the past, repeating ourselves, etc. We love each other no matter what)
Woven are these pages in poetic verse,
With bare threads of our deepest feelings,
You will find laughter, tears and remorse,
and words of wisdom, prayer and healings. 1
The words herein form an anthology of love,
From the pens of poets from around the world,
It's a love only possible through God above,
Creating a bond of friendship freely unfurled. 2
Sorrows drip from our pens so poignantly,
Elegantly too our joys are expressed,
We can even imagine things we cannot see,
With imagery, our loveliest thoughts are dressed. 3
Metaphors and simile express the fire,
that smoulder in the bosom of a writer,
who only seeks to send to you with fond desire,
a verse to make our weary lives much brighter. 4
The poet mines the cave for treasures sought,
Walls encrusted with images from the past,
Chipping away at a long forgotten thought,
Emerging with gold nuggets at long last. 5
The entry of Divine words must be first,
because they always have the deepest meanings,
And they are able to quench our deepest thirst,
In spite of all our ailments and other misgivings. 6
Such highlight gratitude-assertions today,
Rippling with blissful hope for tomorrow,
Dispelling woes breathed-out by yesterday,
Assuring God’s presence midst blessings’ flow… 7
Emerald emotive urge surges in opulence
on rhythmic passionate flow of poems,
Earnest yearning rippling on relevance,
Verses shining, glowing, sparkling like gems.8
Poets polish leather letters with feather fingers,
Every word wild like the waves of the ocean,
Passionate paragraphs parade with clingers,
Full moon highlights heights of heavenly motion.9
If words were gold coins in a silken purse,
We would seek their worth in our dealings,
And we would wish to have recourse
To those gifts of verse they are revealing.10
The Artist
I need a Muse.
Do you think it could be you?
Can you pick up a paint brush
And show me what you can do?
I need a painter of portraits;
To fill in the gaps inside my head.
I need a Goddess of Love,
To notice the stuff I write in my bed.
I need an Artist, who is simply magnificent,
A breath-taking vision, who is simply Heaven sent.
I need an Angel to paint me a Picasso,
Of my poetry in pieces, before I end up like Van Gogh.
Slightly impaired by deafness, I guess.
Going grey now; thank you stress.
Hi Mona, how’s Rembrandt?
He’s been seen drinking in a bar,
With somebody called Cezanne?
Call Michaelangelo; Donatello will have a plan.
Leonardo’s busy with his inventions,
But here comes Raphael.
Turtle Power! Hi Master Splinter.
Do you have your easel and paints ready
To see you through the winter?
Paint me a story
And I’ll write you a picture.
I think if the two of us worked together;
What I see, to you could become much clearer.
Are you sat there looking for some inspiration?
Then read one of my poems, sing one of my songs;
Maybe then you could paint our creation.
Maybe then I could write poetry about your art.
My vision brought to life,
With the gift of your care.
Paint a picture of us together,
So you will remember that I will always be there.
If you ever need some inspiration,
Just creep inside my mind for a little vacation;
From reality, from your personal Demons.
You will see we are all the same.
I have as many foibles as you do.
My heart belongs to any Woman who truly wants it.
But she hasn’t told me how she feels yet,
So I guess I can’t live without it.
But soon I will meet someone
And offer them my love.
Because an artist without inspiration,
Is like a poet who has never been in love.
Joyous tragedy! Shakespeare laughs
As he tears apart love, with just a couple of paragraphs.
Dead and gone! Not our fair Juliet.
If Romeo had just gone home instead;
He would have turned into a moody poet.
(C)2011 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
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