Long Pens Poems
Long Pens Poems. Below are the most popular long Pens by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pens poems by poem length and keyword.
bare up to listen if you dare
to words of poets spoken so rare
within these words chosen with care
timeless messages encoded there
our hearts to the depths of love untold
with in words secrets attempt to unfold
fragility of hearts made of glass
often broken by unnoticed pass
our pride in country, family and God
rarely is seen the road we trod
giving life , health and limbs for strangers
all the time knowing the dangers
words that rang out within our hearts
words from poets and prayers impart
what once was living; resurected by art
the plain, the shy, the cowardly depart
leaving the brave, the hero's, the ledgends of heart
to fight, to wittness the cruelty of Satans art
and of life there are many themes
each and every one pretaining to thee
for there is nothing new under the sun
for every battle there is a victory won
to be a hero or a martyr
some they know not
but for the principle
the reason they fought
it mattered not the reward they got
but what was right, was right and life mattered not
weather battlefield or police shootout
they fought
over a little piece of land
their parents bought
poets know justice is from the heart
and pens telling the story is our part
when justice is justice
and laws are unjust
the feelings poets commandeer
and rush
To all the pens I’ve lost before
That rolled off my desk and, on the floor
I’m glad they came along
I dedicate this song
To all the pens I’ve lost before
To all the pens I’ve once caressed
And may I say, I’ve held the best
For helping me to grow, I owe a lot I know
To all the pens I’ve lost before
Ideas in my mind were growing
And all those things I had to say
Those things and thoughts my inward praying
Etched in pen with verse I’d play
To all the pens that gave words life
That helped express love to my wife
I’m glad you came along
I dedicate this song
To all the pens I’ve lost before
To all the pens that inspired me
That filled empty pages with fantasy
They live within my heart
Always playing an important part
For all the pens I’ve lost before
With the wisdom each pen was bestowing
They helped me find the right words to say
Inspiration steadily growing
Why did the best pens never stay
To all the pens I’ve lost before
That rolled off my desk and, on the floor
I’m glad they came along
I dedicate this song
To all the pens I’ve lost before
To all the pens I’ve held before
From you I could not ask for more
Yes, I’m glad you came along
Without you I couldn’t write my songs
To all the pens I’ve lost before.
A parody of Willie Nelson’s song, I hope you enjoy.
Principally, pretty Penny the poet gave the ILLUSION of preening
Outside the Palace in the portico pre-party.
Edward the Bard entered elegantly, elaborating with an INFUSION of
Trendy calligraphy pens and colored inks of CREATIVITY.
Ralph, the Shakespearian sonnet writer EVENTUALLY strolled in with a scroll.
You would think none of them new each other, as they
Practically knocked each other over getting to the press.
At any other time, Annabelle the actress would have been
Languishing on a director’s arm but tonight, she had
An editor! How INEVITABLE! Clarisse came to the Palace Ball dressed as
Cleopatra and carrying a clay tablet full of
Egyptian poetry, who would win for best piece was anyone’s guess.
Poet:Debbie Guzzi
All these years ago it began
then I picked up my black pen
wondering if I could write poetry
so doubtful was I back then
But then my grey cells responded
bringing thoughts mindfully alive
from that point, confidence grew
brings a vision point to truly strive
Having been set to write poetry
it's appropriate what made my debut
for my subject matter set to write
a long-pointed thing is my clue
By now you'll have worked it out
that first poem was titled 'The Pen'
which would be my best ever friend
writing in my notebook forever open
To think now many I've penned
using up gallons of flowing ink
it all began with a pen of mine
which was indeed my missing link!
(This is written looking back on the first poem written all these years ago, so many pens have been used since then!)
Don't forget your books with the shiny covers.
Pens filled with glitter and rainbows of hope.
My books used to be wrapped in brown paper bags.
By year's end they'd be frayed and covered in kid graffiti.
Number 2 pencils poked with bite marks.
Most importantly, mind your teachers.
But when they delve into critical hate theory or gender fluency.
You have my blessing to tune them out...
After all, you're only six years old.
In my day we'd recited the pledge.
Had air raid drills garnished with salted sirens.
We'd be ordered to scramble under wooden desks.
To protect ourselves from nuclear fireballs...
The teachers turning into hell hounds.
Barking at us to keep quiet and keep our heads down.
As they goose-stepped up and down the aisles.
They'd look for stray-paper-eyed lambs.
We had to do this because of a red boogie man.
Who couldn't wait to lay our souls inside his nuclear sandbox-
Of course, you kids have your own boogie man to fester about...
So don't forget to run for the gates or shelter in place.
If all else fails, do as they do in Uvalde.
Cover yourself in your best friend's blood and play dead.
*Image of Stringer Davis and Margaret Rutherford by Fanpop.
Miss Marple's Nephew's Double Mysteries
~~0~~
Agatha Christie,
Agatha Christie slights through half her years,
pens a fictional, Miss Marple,
a Miss Jane Marple by her peers,
Agatha's best sleuth qualities had a nephew,
a nephew named Raymond
not into crime stuff like his aunt,
not like his aunt who'd felt him as Rainman,
though he thought much of the world,
the world he thought of much,
~~0~~
such as the Death Valley Sailing Stones,
stones sailing by magic touch?
some stones are seven hundred pounds,
seven hundred pounds some stones are,
wintertime,
wintertime flats fill with little quantities of rainwater that freezes so far,
day's sun melts the ice splitting it into sheets,
into sheets, they're splitting,
desert winds hit the stones that slip and slide,
slide and slip making results fitting.
~~0~~
and in Raymond's follow-up study he did of Richard III
death and all,
death and all?
after his remains were found, his head was bashed repeatedly,
bashed repeatedly appall,
no defensive wounds led to believe he had no helmet,
no helmet had him,
furthermore, *Shakespeare's spinal deformity an err, he had no limp,
no limp or a withered limb,
furthermore, his remains were found on a battlefield setting,
a battlefield setting, not in a churchyard,
"A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse", alas none were seen,
none were seen near this Shakespeare die-hard.
~~0~~
*Shakespeare's cast of Richard III in his play re his spinal deformity appears to have been exaggerated.
2022 July 24
~
So many poets and so many pens,
awesome the talent I see
Here as I read among all of my friends,
one poet stands out to me
Always so kind with a nice word to say,
bringing a smile to this place
Wonderful artistry out on display,
posting a furious pace
Often the words come across so much fun,
humor at their own expense
Sometimes they’re sad and completely undone,
definitely thoughts quite intense
Politics, blizzards and cats if you care,
subjects that float ‘cross the mind
Limericks, rhyming and free verse to share,
no telling what you might find
Still it’s their friendship that shines ever bright,
no matter what you might think
Somehow their comments make everything right,
penned with a magical ink
By now you’re wondering, who’s this about,
now I will tell you the who
Not in a whisper for this I must shout,
Gershon, this poems for you
~
For you buddy
Trust in God they say, do it everyday. Read the word, even if you have heard.
Pass it on to others, to all sisters and brothers. They say just be brave, now take it to the grave.
Date Written: 6/15/2020 Let the Pens Flow - Rhyme Poetry Contest (Faith in GOD) Sponsored by: Jenish Somadas
You might call me a dreamer…a romantic…you probably think I am naïve
But that there is more love than hate in the world is something I believe.
When asked how she creates a love song…the musician quickly replied,?“I close my eyes…I think about love and the notes awaken from inside.”
When asked how he pens a love story…the author is quick to impart,
“I close my eyes…I think about love and find the words within my heart.
When asked how she paints so beautifully…the artist smiled then quickly blushed…“I close my eyes…I think about love and it’s love that guides my brush.”
When asked how he creates such magnificent figures…the sculptor answers, “As far as I am able to understand…I close my eyes…I think about love…and love, then, guides my hands.”
A poet is no different…we close our eyes…we think about how love is everywhere…and when we open our eyes the words appear…as if they were waiting for us there.
I believe there is more love than hate in this world…
as many people through the years have shown…
Yes, I believe there is more love than hate
and I believe…I’m not alone.
This morning, I opened a drawer to my yesterdays
of crumpled poems half written, but thought I'd tossed
Here I am, reading them, through a tearful haze,
and remembering nights I wept for love I had lost
I flattened the pages, one by one with fingers shaking
A sonnet pledging love was abandoned, unfinished
My breathing was shallow; doleful heart was quaking
It's passionate memories were not quite diminished
On this note, the ink was much too blurred to read
where tear stains had fallen when I tried to explain
the despair that caused my fragile emotions to bleed
and pain in verses that I'd written in aching refrain
My wrinkled sheafs were an army of aborted thoughts
Awaiting me to deploy them; their orders still pending
Pens are mighty, but they cannot heal broken hearts
Some poems are not destined to have a happy ending
"Why not finish them?" asked my consoling muse
That's a burdensome endeavor that I simply cannot do
"Forgive me," I voiced, "but I must respectfully refuse"
Love ended, and there's nothing poetic left to pursue
There's no war to fight, and I moved on from my plight
My wrinkled paper soldiers would not go in the trash
I placed them on a funeral pyre. A match, I did light
and watched as burning embers turned them to ash
June 27, 2022
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 5 Contest
Sponsored by Mark Toney