Long Penned Poems
Long Penned Poems. Below are the most popular long Penned by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Penned poems by poem length and keyword.
Now the public library in our town contains the knowledge for mankind,
and there’s not much happening ‘round the world, that I cannot find.
I can think of any subject that I like and tell Jenny what I’m after,
and she can find a stack of books that darn near touch the rafter.
The library’s helped me countless times from days when I’m at school,
and I’ve become a handy man with books my back up tool,
but aside from books on lifestyle needs, on fiction some are geared,
and some authors write for little kids, and some write on the weird.
I’ve hired books about our history and read about some shocking wars.
Our garden is designed from books, and I’m obsessed with reading ‘Jaws’.
But crime became my new desire with cases filed from years gone by,
where Capital Punishment was handed down and why some had to die.
Description of the victims sent a chill right through my bones,
right to the guilty on death row with all their over-tones.
I read about their last few weeks, with how and why and where,
before they took their final walk to the electric chair.
One story written by a Warder based in a Southern US gaol,
is penned about a chilling case that for you I will unveil …
Leroy murdered seven folk; the warder wrote down in this book.
For twenty years appeals were held then Leroy’s goose was cooked.
When you’re with someone for twenty years, no matter what they’ve done,
you can form a slight attachment even if a fragile one.
So one week before that final stroll Leroy was asked by Warder Black,
if there’s something special that he’d like, and Leroy answered back.
“There is something I do desire - but it must involve me faithful wife.
“My wish is” Leroy grinned. “Is to eat her meatloaf now for life”.
Well Leroy’s wish was granted and for three meals every day,
he ate the meatloaf that he begged for while the hours ticked away.
On the eve of Leroy’s execution there was tension being shown.
The corridors were creepy now with a ghostly eerie tone.
Forgotten were the seven victims - in the morning there’s one more.
Leroy must face ‘old sparky’ waiting down that corridor.
His final meal of meatloaf was brought before him on a plate.
Said Warder Black with teary eyes “You don’t look worried mate!”
Leroy laughed “I’m not my friend, that chair won’t kill me man.
If this meatloaf couldn’t do me in - I know that nothing can!”
SUDDENLY SOMETHING
Have you ever spent a night in a six by ten foot cell?
Well that’s where my FESTERING fears dwell
And no one with a prescription pad will write for a junkie born and bred
Did you ever wish more earth dwellers would all suddenly be dead
Look, there’s a pretty little miss, oh it’s daddy’s little girl
She dances on my feet when she starts to whirl
I told her to hold down her pleated skirt when she begins to twirl
My little girl with a smile and every tooth a perfect pearl
In silent supplication I’d sneak up to hear her prayer for that eve
I just wanted to hear daddy’s little girl pray and then I would leave
First she blessed the Almighty, his spirit and his soul
Making prayers come true was her sole and only goal
It could be a league of angels advising her on the right thing to do
Or sprites to make all things look like new
It might be little singing stars, from above came they for you
So your daughter can ignore an errant and off key dove pleased not to coo
She looks completely comfortable in a cloak and coat of cashmere
S**t, I’d trade an arm for her body no matter what she may wear
Whatever happens next is only though fate to be willed
And if you listen closely one can hear the breeze being stilled
Alas she grows nigh with hips swinging and lips moving
And then those loquacious lips emitted “would you care to have a tea”
I knew she could hear by heart from across the table
And then it was only silence, lovely her and me
“Look, me and that lady over there are wearing the same dress”
And so whatever she was going to do it may have to be under duress
“that lady has the a copy of my original,” and she was enraged
Something tells me your friends have never been caged
I’ve been penned up with a pen, pen pals and ten pencils, but only one isn’t too dull
You’d think out of all those pencils there’d be one sharp one to cull
So you’re daddy’s little girl no longer my sweet
But I’ll let y’all know when next we can meet
So when I first talked about being caged in a cell
if asked for the truth my story would be difficult to tell
Because each eye a gem, each tooth a pearl
So tell me sweetheart, are you still daddy’s little girl
© 2011.……free cee!
And s.b.---if you are gonna ask me, so where’s the nexus from one thing to another I
say go have another glass of vintage brandy.
My Missing Muse
I have tried to write as of late,
but my mind has become a true blank slate.
My keyboard is bored and my ideas are bland.
I have to think of something grand.
Lately I lack poetic thought, thus I’m feeling quite distraught.
Maybe new themes will come to mind, if I read some antique poems of mine.
I have written about nature,
birds like ducks,
a child’s marker freckles,
a coffee cup.
A retired boat resting on the shore,
dirty socks behind a door.
I’ve penned 2 poems about Monet and VanGogh.
Now Degas? I don’t know.
Lady Di who danced in her royal gown,
but sadly now listens to angel sounds.
Her love for people was always increasing, but my poetic thoughts,now decreasing.
A teapot and a tuffet, diddle diddle dee.
A sweet little bundle came to me.
Blueberries grow on a bush not a tree!
Still no ideas will come to me.
Two tired tulips on my windowsill doze.
Three ladybugs on a daffodil pose.
Now is the time I need to compose!
A chorus frog’s peeping has a dancing beat,
clicking,
croaking,
repeat.
Jumping rope in heels, the teacher who tried her best.
Feathered fledglings sleeping in a Blue Egg mommy’s nest.
There is a wee granny in my apple tree.
Bring your appetite, then you’ll see!
Trees dressed in acorns
Protect our seas
Echoing owls between forest trees.
No new ideas coming into my head ?
My muse is hiding, I dread.
Cronkite,a reporting wiz,
closed the news, “That’s the way it is”
An unbiased journalist one could trust.
Integrity, sincerity and principles, a must.
TV shows,
Winter fairies on tiptoes.
Still I have the blank slate woes!
A path of moonlight, dragonflies.
Slowly summer says goodbye.
Soon the southern birds will fly.
Smell the season sunshine.
Crowds that cheer, “Alley Oop”
As basketballs find their longed for hoops.
Aunt Gloria was warm in her Irish blue.
Little boy Benjamin lost his little shoe!
His sister found it, "PEE U”
“Hooray” I cheer. Now it seems more clear, I feel my blank slate might disappear.
I’m suddenly feeling passion for more creative action!
Imagination,inspiration,determination!
My mental blankness is washing away.
New topics to write about, coming into play.
Now upside down silly fun.
To the writing teeter totter Marikate, have fun!
To my dearest dear…
Am going through a very bad phase
Loads of works and above all business targets,
Once you came to my thought
And out of all yips, I smiled back for a second
Those flicks with you often n often.
It had been days…
And a movie without you is such a draggy em.
My friend writing for you today…
just to hear from you
Have you ever missed me the way I miss you every day!!!
I turned back my pages and a recap from those French classes
It all began when I shared with you few notes and trifle tattles
Best of you three and among you were bit different
Yet once a time to one I was coquettishly attracted.
Befell with usual conversations and sometimes a walk down to the back gate
A smile shared with wonted hi n hello
And an eye to eye abut during the morning break
Day by day and months later we met up at the orkut network.
First few chats pass on with formal gabs
And later I came up with those fiddling craps.
My usual put-ons and your internet slangs
Still reminds me how I use to share with you
Talks about music and movie blabs.
Washed-out few memories, I wonder how I came in touch with you regularly
Familiarity build up and I started to intimate you.
I saw a friend in you and I saw eternality in you
I felt your accent and I felt how much I miss you.
The Nandan erred foreign flicks and lavishly spent at south city
Few snacks and secret fags on our way,
An overnight fuddle…
I just smiled with you all the way.
I wondered your love toward pets
And I wondered your routine aperiodic,
I esteemed your didacticism
And I esteemed your sensation,
I pray at your benevolence
And I wish for your love always be your existence.
Dear Friend! Today I miss you more,
And I wish you to be here
Your presence will give me a blissful core.
I miss you and I will be missing you,
But promise me before you leave
I just want to sit and recollect all those memories with you.
Through my words and through this letter,
I penned you forever n ever
If ever you need me you’ll always find me near.
I wish you a life with smiles and cheers
Just hit me if ever you are invited with undesired tears.
It’s now to say goodbye
Hope to see you soon and hear from you, A reply!!
Till then…take care n bu bye
Yours forever…longed amigo.
(Note: This poem is dedicated to one of my closest friend Shaoni Mukhopadhyay)
The Feather of Love:
I aired a stray feather to see it flying;
I gazed it flowing in the wind;
I loved its whitish tone;
I loved the natural print upon.
I don’t know how it managed to come back,
How it never ceases to make me taken aback!
I only marked its return,
It truly turned me on,
It made my heart adorn,
A bizarre cloak of its own.
I penned my feelings with this feather,
From the ink of my heart.
I caressed my lover with its touch,
I attached it to my dream catcher,
It is suddenly my feather wizard!
I added it to a belle’s headgear,
To make her carnival look sheer,
I loved this feather on gala days,
So, I wish its company on a sad day.
I desire its touch to console myself.
I want it to erase my tears,
If that carnival girl sheds my feather!
I gifted this feather to a tribal boy,
He added this on his necklace,
It adorned his neck with stones and beads,
It gave him a taste of skirmish.
To his tribe, feather means ornament,
Printed feather means totem’s presence,
But he wore the feather in his lover’s absence!
I attached the feather to a whore’s anklet,
She caused murmur in my heart’s Brooklet.
I loved to see the feather flow,
As she walked!
She gave me a yellow feather from her bun,
I loved her hairs flowing auburn,
She was like a new dawn,
Amid the darkness of my own.
I exchanged my feather with her,
She was my true dream catcher,
She made my heart render,
In unknown splendor!!
Now I own her yellow feather,
I will never let it wither,
From the fuliginous dusts of air.
I keep it inside my book,
I accompany it on my bed,
It’s the solo companion on my brood,
It raises ripples on my heart’s brook!!
Then, on a gloomy noon the whore returned,
Once again, ‘I’m rocked.
She discovered her lost feather,
Dangling from my dream catcher,
She immediately hugged me into a kiss,
She melted me into total bliss.
Still, she took out the yellow feather soon,
And called me a ‘goon’
As if I never deserved the feather,
As if I am lover of weather!!
When I demanded my printed feather,
She detached it from her waist-dangler,
I loved the fact, she loved my feather,
And kissed on her hair.
So, she promised to remember me as a familiar stranger,.
She’ll now give the feather to her new lover,
I’ll never let her sweet memory disappear,
By the way, returned my whitish printed feather!!
I was born, Bronx, New York, in the year 'Thirty-Nine',
the first child with a brother who followed in time.
Ten years later, moved North, Hudson Valley, same State
where I've settled, lived on with my loved ones to date.
But when young, in my school, two fine talents emerged,
and my teachers spared hours to encourage my urge.
I enjoyed my young years while I painted and penned;
lots of canvas and paper used up without end.
At eighteen, I then married the love of my life
and enjoyed my new path of becoming a wife
to my US Marine, very handsome and true;
Parris Island, our home for a year, almost two.
By the age twenty-five- was a mother of three;
a fine son, two sweet girls, a complete family.
We worked hard every day and our life was so good.
I wrote poems and painted whenever I could.
Later, painting with oils was the pastime for me-
while I studied for years at an art gallery.
Varied art shows, displays, and a job filled my time.
Soon I sold many pieces and life was sublime.
Yet, the years went by fast and at age thirty-nine,
I enrolled in a college to study part-time.
Six years later, I earned my prized English degree-
a BA—and a Minor in Business for me.
Then my pictures with words replaced those done with art,
and I soon published poems of life and of heart.
Yet along in this time of my great writing spree
I worked hard every day as our business VP.
For a full twenty years, we worked hard faithfully
after hubby retired as the Chief of FD,
selling our fire equipment, all types, big and small
to FDs, factories, district schools, and the malls.
Our dear children all married, with families too,
are involved happily in whatever they do.
Happy grandma of five- twenty-five to eighteen-
and one granddaughter married two thousand thirteen.
We retired, sold our business thirteen years ago,
still so busy with life, with its ebb and its flow.
We are proud and so blessed and thank God up above,
for our days and our life of good times filled with love.
April 11, 2015
~1st Place~
Premiere Contest: Where Are You From
Sponsor: Joseph Soper
Judged: 08/01/2017
~2nd Place~
Contest: Bio of a Poet
Sponsor: Tammy Reams
Judged: 04/18/2015
Form: Anapestic Tetrameter (12 syllables, 4 feet per line)
I stopped beneath a big oak tree
and tried to catch my breath
My body it was shaking still,
he scared me half to death
I pulled my notebook to my lap,
my hand it held the pen
And started writing poetry,
my love for her again
When then I looked above my place,
the branches filled with birds
They watched as I was writing this,
they chirped at every word
“Don’t let that old crow bother you”
I heard their voices say
“He wants to be the only one,
that’s why he acts this way”
“Just keep on writing poetry,
your verses are the best
Be yourself, you’re doing fine,
to that we can attest”
“There’ll always be someone like him
that tries to pull you down
But worry not, just wear a smile
in place of that old frown”
So that I did, I wrote and wrote
and didn’t have a care
So I could always send my love
to you I long to share
I penned for you a poem of
affections written deep
Hoping that close to your heart
my words you’d always keep
When then again I heard that voice,
my day then turned to night
“I see you’re writing poetry,
I knew that I was right”
“I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do,
we’ll put it to a test
You write yours and I’ll write mine,
we’ll see who is the best”
I closed my eyes and thought of us,
my mind held such a view
I wrote some lines of perfect prose
to say that I love you
He scratched and clawed upon his pad
and with an evil grin
He tossed the page down on the ground
and said, “Let’s go, begin”
I read the words that he did write
and if I must confess
I didn’t understand a thing,
his poem was a mess
Several lines of gibberish,
hate in every breath
Calling names of everyone,
he even threatened death
And then he read my offering,
a look came on his face
His feathers black had turned to ash,
his head hung in disgrace
For love shall win out every time
in ink of gentle flow
“Go spew your hatred someplace else,
it’s time for you to go”
I watched him as he flew away,
a sulking fading bird
On silent wings he disappeared,
he uttered not a word
I often walk along that path
but now I wear a smile
For I’m still writing poetry
in my romantic style
Though I will not forget that day
as these words come to mind
“Hate will never pass the test,
it’s better to be kind”
Thank you for reading my poem.
There is an antique writing desk
in my little study
handed-me-down
from generations of would-be
writers in my family
And there are ancient creatures
from days gone by
living in this old desk still
evil, larcenous little creatures
envious of literary skill
This explains much
Lately, I have caught them unawares
aghast, thought I imagined them
but they are really there
surly, sinister, repugnant creatures
in my writing desk
There's a putrid little jerk,
called Pernishicus who lurks
behind the piles on my desk
glorying in the mess
a malevolent, grimy-mauve gremlin
Who preys on newly created works
stealthily spraying them
with foul feculence
as soon as I commence
my writing-
...Sometimes missing slightly
and tagging my hand
making it hard to stand
myself (much less my writing)
for days on end
Then there's a creepy
mesmerizing fiend
they call Spelbadger
a translucent thing, quite obscene
who shifts in the shadows and purrs
With dark eyes deep- constantly changing
like stones from mood-rings
set in his skull
he psychically bullies,
intimidates and muddles
until my poor brain
is worn and dull
And perhaps worst of all
is that one, Grumblesleaze
with pale, glowering eyes diseased
a gray-green, mangy looking thing
whose famous quirk
is that he has the gall
to grouse about my work...
As he viciously shreds it
then glunshing and munching
greedily devours it all
leaving no note
or trace of remembrance
of my past brilliance
behind
Oh, out of spite
he might leave a few
of my ill-penned
unfortunate lines
I planned to cut anyway
or pull my worst attempts
from the waste-can
and lay them out
to remind me of my failures
Yes, this explains much
For there was only one before
our one lone ancestor
who was able to write
at this desk prolifically
tapping out volumes rather heroically
'Though tiresome and tedious
dry history and drivel
which, no doubt, shrank and shriveled
and lulled these creatures off
to sleep for years
Until we woke them up
broke their hibernation
with more interesting stories
and imagination, colorfully crafted
ingenious, piece after piece
Clicking and clacking away
on typewriters, keyboards
generation after generation
of irritatingly gifted writers
disturbing their peace
it had to cease...
On wings of twilight her hopes flew away
As day eagerly swam into night
Simply had not been a wonderful day
Stars in the sky were a glorious sight
Filling ethereal heavens completely
Showing her optimism so sweetly
Feelings of pure love were in the air
Could she forgive herself? Would she dare?
Evil doubts within her soul began to ring.
Her emotions were not easy to share
Contemplation is a heartfelt thing.
She sat by river on the south side bay
Figuring out how to make angry thoughts right
Gentle ideas escaping for sighs far away
Glowing in her dendrites, bits but so bright.
Plugging in gaps ever so casual and neatly,
In a manner as to not defeat thee,
Yes she had been betrayed, flayed full bare.
Could she release this anger now? Could she dare?
She had been the victim of a masochist’s fling
This humiliation she was not ready to share.
Contemplation is a heartfelt thing.
Gathered sorrowful ideas in a unique new way.
Determined to obliterate the blight.
Exploded with truth, mighty pen had its say.
She wrote down sad feelings into the night.
Enjoying her perch down by the sea,
And shade of a tiny bonsai tree,
Self feelings smiled, she remembered to care.
She had been lured to an evil one’s lair.
Feelings of worthlessness began to sing.
Forgiveness of self is now parading in air.
Contemplation is a heartfelt thing.
Joined momentarily by a fat hopping blue jay,
She knew what she had penned was amazingly right.
She reveled in daylight sun’s prettiest ray.
Watching the jay ‘til he flew out of sight.
Feeling this instant she was at long last free.
Absolved of blame by God’s glorious sea.
As she wrote it down and began to share,
Her heart was lifted by daybreak’s hopeful air.
Doubts flung out by a David’s giant sling,
Writing was cathartic, easy to bear.
Contemplation is a heartfelt thing.
With a hidey ho and a hey, hey, hey,
She followed her bliss with all of its might.
Her words of truth were now in full display.
She knew she would sleep better that night.
Feelings of relief had overcome thee.
She recovered her soul life down by the sea.
The rest of her life seemed more than a bit fair.
For herself, she again started to truly care.
Warm heart full of hope began to sing.
Possibility of true love now in the air.
Contemplation is a heartfelt thing.
"Super Hero"
Krypto Knighted
Disrobed Le Penseur
contemplates strength
a royal monk disrobing within
Rodin begins to think
new dreams dialled in
naked vulnerability begins
hiding behind dark angel wings
pinned between the box-cadged
dimensions of a glass onion
black crows waiting along the ley lines lead,
super natural morsel fed
dark nights fly into unhooded blinding daze
towards the gauntlet
landing tethered and tamed
temperated, nixed and disarmed
Hawk of the Lure,
long winged
creance held
in the grey rock silence
evaluated
hard-penned
full-summed
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
“Super Hero” / Johnny Hollow
https://youtu.be/JGkC-8Qu0JM
“Land of the lost and sedated
Will someone come,
Save us from,
This storyline of mass destruction
Will they stay,
When they see,
What we have done
just to be free…”
Crypto/Krypto, meanings
https://www.thefreedictionary.com/krypto-
Glossary of Falconry Terms:
https://sora.unm.edu/sites/default/files/journals/jrr/v003n03/p00058-p00067.pdf
"Super Hero", Johnny Hollow / LYRICS
https://genius.com/Johnny-hollow-superhero-lyrics
Kryptonite
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kryptonite
"full-summed" / refer, Glossary of Falconry Terms.
Le Penseur.
The Thinker was initially named The Poet (French: Le Poète), and was part of a large commission begun in 1880 for a doorway surround called The Gates of Hell. Rodin based this on The Divine Comedy of Dante Alighieri, and most of the figures in the work represented the main characters in the poem with The Thinker at the center of the composition over the doorway and somewhat larger than most of the other figures. Some critics believe that it was originally intended to depict Dante at the gates of Hell, pondering his great poem. Other critics reject that theory, pointing out that the figure is naked while Dante is fully clothed throughout his poem, and that the sculpture's physique does not correspond to Dante's effete figure. The sculpture is nude, as Rodin wanted a heroic figure in the tradition of Michelangelo, to represent intellect as well as poetry.
Falconry:
"So What Exactly is Falconry?"
http://www.pfht.org/falconry/