Long Pen Poems
Long Pen Poems. Below are the most popular long Pen by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pen poems by poem length and keyword.
"LISTEN to the Wind as it sparks your imagination giving life to the words you write." By Poet
LISTEN to the wind as it softy blows,
so soft it can barely be felt as I write.
As I find gentle words for my pen to write with,
words filled with love and peace for my reader.
LISTEN to the wind as it blows the leaves,
colorful fall leaves dance across the ground.
Now let my words dance in pretty fall colors,
dance across the written page for you to enjoy.
LISTEN to the wind as it blows in a storm,
winds are picking up with mighty power.
Powerful words can blow in both good and bad,
exciting my many readers saying, wow!
LISTEN to the wind as it blows in words,
windchimes will now start to sing to you and me.
Singing chimes and words can bring love to the air,
for a heavenly choir to sing out loud.
LISTEN to the wind as it sparks my writing,
and imagination giving life to my words,
making my readers celebrate what they have read.
Psalm 26:2 (KJV) Examine me, O Lord, and prove me; try my reins and my heart.
Yes, Lord – search my heart, search my soul
Show me the way I need to go – abide in my spirit
Shine love from my being – erase all the fear,
Remind me that You’re here, where I can lean on You
So that I never need worry…
Yes, precious Savior – search me and read me
Show me what I’m doing wrong and where I need to change
Remind me that I’m so far from perfect and, with You,
I don’t need to remain in the dark – because of You
Your shining light…
I can feel the joy raining down, silencing the doubt
Reassuring me that, through grace…
Your love will make a way – Your love will teach me to pray
When I don’t know what to say,
Yes… even when I don’t know what to say…
There are answers to my fears, comforting for my tears
The promise that, like the fire in the wind, Your kindness kindles thanks,
Your beautiful teaches me the way when I can’t even pray,
Your wonderful is as bright as the day when You defeat the enemy
With Your love, Your precious LOVE!
Yes, Lord – search me and know me and flow Your love through me
Silence the demons, the doubts – remind me that, with You,
There is light that smiles through the clouds, music that never plays out
Because of You, Lord, there is love that never suspects,
Love that lasts through the years, love that is tender and assured
This love, it is Your signature…
You sign my heart with the most beautiful pen – the pen of love
It is the signature of eternity, written on my heart – written in hope
Written in grace, written so that when I pray, I can see YOU
In the spirit of each heart, each faith… everyone who passes over my path,
Even the ones who don’t see the way – because of YOU,
My precious Savior… there on my soul, written so bold, are the words…
God is LOVE!
Signed from above, so that even the darkest thought
Is illuminated with grace that covers the worst sins,
Grace that reassures me, wherever I’ve been, there is redemption
That is a Savior who makes a way – who abides inside,
Who guides me through this life… with a love that never lies,
A love that lives to protect and prepare…. where He is my eternal, my home –
Forever written in light, reflecting all that is right!
My weary fingers cannot move my pen,
Memories trapped between now and then, a silent and mute echo.
I write these words to tell our story,
Unfinished songs burning in this journal of time.
Shorelines and sunsets, laughter and hidden pains,
Adorned with your warmth, now they haunt me in this silence.
I torment the present, hoping to find meaning,
To bring me closer to the light or consume my soul in darkness.
Faster, my madness grows, slowly, the steps of time move,
Now I am an obstacle gathering, it's time for the noose to tighten.
Adorned with hope and sunrise, love brings tears in disguise.
The truth is that a star always shines on a radiant night,
Because it needs the dark to show its brilliance.
Unfulfilled commitments, forgotten promises,
I regret our meeting, a beautiful accident,
I remember your words of love and heart,
Rewriting this bitter story for a better beginning, a desired end.
For in this melancholy, I seek a new meaning,
A better ending, where love no longer hurts,
Where memories are a balm, not a ghost of the past.
"The pen is the tongue of the mind."
~ Horace
"A writer without a pen would be like a duck without water."
~ Donovan
My ink is bleeding today,
I feel lachrymose,
I sense my owner's dismay,
She needs some joy dose;
Her moods often are bizarre,
Sometimes I can't gauge,
She hasn't put me down so far,
Though tears blot the page;
Words of sorrow down she writes,
And writes and writes on!
I can't stop her, how she fights!
She'll write till the dawn!
Poetry flows from my ink,
Page after new page,
Such days, I've no time to think,
It's her writing rage!
Sometimes she'll use me to scratch
her head full of thoughts,
Or like today, I'm no match,
When she creates lots!
One thing I will always know,
Something I'm proud of,
My ink will forever flow,
'coz I'm her true love;
In her hands, my ink blood beats,
She has set me free,
My whole purpose, she completes,
Whene'er she holds me.
The Broken Fountain Pen Disaster
Underfoot the dropped was-so-lost pen breaks snapping its midnight ink artery to spurt explosively out like some imprisoned force nearly dead but up again sucking in saving air and spread on
dispersing into freedom in a fly across the floor the long streaks of such random black arcs streaking falling staining the canvas on which our living room is drawn together between a sofa and yellow wing- chair on the gray carpet there will be an awful task to clean this now became a Jackson Pollock’s winking quickly cast so rapidly set.
After the stroke we gape as the room itself clutches a stiller life mood blank in an erased atmosphere forgetting any will to find a contour of drawn new breath or speech only yet
whispers feel of loss in a similar kind of dreaded time as when the casket sits in the room for a wake under mounds of white roses while hinting of prayers and phrases of grief
by Rilke
until finally someone declares the tragedy Into the past turning to suggest the use of gold leaf rather than ink on the outlines of the next drawing of the hour as it may proceed.
**********. **********. **********. **********
(C) sally Young Eslinger 11/2020
Thanks be to God
KP: With embellishment aborted,
sidewalk and street talk wail from paper.
Tears vividly seen because cursive one's don't wipe away.
An intrinsic institution allergic to plagiarized allegiance,
we're born and bred to bleed blue from womb, and the wound.
Traits of our soul incarcerated in a pen case
presenting selfies that speak volume without an impediment.
Lingual masseuses with mischief marinating, depending on
which taste of epic we prefer.
We write to pulverize color barriers because underneath the shell
tethered laughter is majority. Lumen repair technicians
dimming differences, a cultural mend from cultured men
adjoined through their pen.
Siamese artistes with an umbilical transporting manna from our
third eye to feed the famine.
Brother of mine, break bread with your pen
RL: I too do not wish to embellish
So I place my ear upon the sidewalk of discovery
For I wish to hear the colour of your steps
Our souls are meant to breathe upon paper
The fibres of the papyrus bleed into our convoluted minds
as we give of our panicked moments
Ours is a calmed darkness
A mimicking hope
Yesterday flows over tomorrowed possibilities
as we attempt to rewrite answers to those questions never asked
Differences float above our commonality
So we choose to dive below the surface
For beneath our papered skin resides the hearts of free men
Paper converted by pen becomes flesh
The bond of brotherhood
Tethered between minds
Transported beyond societies perceived differences
For we choose to anoint our spirits in blue ink!
Thanks Keith for joining me in this creative adventure.
It is a pleasure to write with such a talented writer.
Written by: Keith Papyrus & Richard Lamoureux
September 25, 2015
One puts it between thumb and finger
hold it firmly to strike with ink nib
then ink flows smoothly along
putting on paper all your mind since crib
Whatever thoughts come through you
you’ve got your weapon in your hand
ready to pounce spread around
proving yourself be main brand
Literature is so vast subject on whole
your personal pen seems drop in ocean
especially when you consider all rest
but your contribution can be special potion
This pen seems little in this digital age
so many ways there be to communicate
but it still has it’s uses many by far
being many forces needed penetrate
So make sure give great value to your pen
use it stirring up that gift that’s within you
bring upon this world some poetic gem
pen full of ink prove so much be true
(This is a remake of my first poem on ps entitled 'The Pen', hopefully it shows progress in my literal pen since I first wrote this piece.)
Transcending Time
Or even space
I read your words
I see your face
I see a quill
Within your hand
So many words
I understand
I see the lamp
Beside your bed
And sunlight
On your gardener
Head
Gentle and small...
And powerful
Written words
In day
Or night
Emily's Pen
A
Sheer delight
A quiet weaver
On the loom
Of poetry
In times
Far room
And here you share
You share with me
The glow of sweet
Humility
A private
Gaze
Humanity
With Light that filters
Through the pain
I ponder so
Again, again
I don't need a poem
When I have to write
When I need a poem
All I have to do is write
My pen is full of words
That swim real deep
They reach the places of the mind
Where emotions dare to speak
If words were meant to shout
I could use an explanation point
But to get someones attention
My words they must annoint
To some this comes real easy
Other have no clue
We have this thing inside of us
This gift with words we use
For some it's inspiration
A feeling we often use
But there are times for accusations
When citizens must accuse
There are times we look around us
And our eyes are struck with awe
The beauty of Gods creation
Eloquent words tell what we saw
But love is the thing
That's been discribed the most
The pen maybe the only friend
To one who's heart is broke
You can love your country
And you can love your god
But it will allways be the little things
That your words will applaud
And if you have the gift
Of making your words rhyme
The world may remember you
Until the end of time
I don't need a poem
All I need is a pen
Put that with some paper
And a time to begin
blank stares
streaming tears
the tip of the pen
piercing my skin
Why am I doing this?
I know this is wrong.
I know I'm going to be mad.
I know I'm going to hate what's left.
So why?
I need to feel something
when I can't feel anything.
so the pen
scratches the surface.
heartache
pen goes deeper.
sadness
scratch marks.
anger
blood.
Why?
Why do I do it?
Why can't I use other methods?
I wrote this poem right?
Why can't I do that?
I need to feel something
I need to feel pain
It's what I deserve
So pen scratches cover my arm
I have to hid them now
hide the evidence
"nothing's wrong"
"I'm okay" "I'm fine"
hide the evidence
I'm not hurting
and no one would care if I was
so why would I share?
I need to feel something
anything
aren't there other ways
so why do I choose the pen
time and time again
the pen
the scratches
the blood
the scars
the pen
showing my pain
disappered and covered
by my sleeve