Long Personification Poems
Long Personification Poems. Below are the most popular long Personification by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Personification poems by poem length and keyword.
The image reveals to its audience, four light slices of tall, stale bread
Being held upright alongside five glasses of warm, thickening honey
Filled to the very rim, coagulating as the bread stales due to time’s extended hold
A long table embracing these entities, blurry life buzzes in the backdrop
Neighboring me close, waiting to pervade me
Stands Opportunity, ambrosial in sight and smell—sticky in persistence
Opportunity is multitudinous, overflowing, enticing—though often overwhelming
Days pass and Opportunity lingers in different shades
Bright orange in corroding inspiration, spread around and behind
Even dark shades of its power peak out of the glasses waiting to break
Waiting to release its freedoms upon me—to freshen, moisten my stale existence
I continue to stand in equal portions, life outside a mere haze
Distorted shapes afar…tranquil colors of whites, silvers and greens
They giggle, for as time passes, Opportunity is still good
Not I—no; I must stand wait forever on this wooden surface
Drying and aching for the moisture I cannot dream to touch
Though perhaps if life outside becomes clearer, a hand will reach for us,
And I will be drenched in the generous overflow…a nourishment for all I know
For Giorgio A. V.'s Contest : Ekphrasis Contest 01
This was fun! Hope I followed the rules okay!
I am out here with never a fear, always surrounded by others like me. I cast light on darkened areas of the galaxy, once hidden and unknown.
However, if the choice was mine, I'd spend my time watching Earth. Earth's a planet that's sending signals of sad sounds in my direction.
Like in my present places, I'd be their guardian and send them lights that feel and heal. I would somehow reveal to them what they don't
seem to realize or understand.
They are very blessed to not be constantly bombarded by space objects. However, they are terrorized within, constantly at war with themselves.
Anyway, it's very painful for me to observe without lifting a hand to help. You can't even imagine the readings, so filled with noise, screams, pain.
Some of the pain is physical but most is emotional, mental, and spiritual.
Were I able to, I would tell them of a once war-driven galactic world;
A world of wounds and woes, never content, ever confronting foes. I would make them realize that conflicts are cruel, and war really is hell.
062920PSCest, You Are A Star, Nina Parmenter
They’ve found a body in my back yard. I
imagine what a dead house would look
like. A stillborn Brownstone with its Jurassic
sandstone hiccupping fossils and family
feuds. Terrace houses would ripple rumour
and rife gossip from one mirrored house to the
next, those prison bars on pavements. A Bungalow
would be simpler: no basement layers or levels
of intrigue, no Who before the Dunnit. Now I
imagine what type of house would best cover a
crime…. no room in High Rise or Loft - the body
would just float, just hang there. A quickly
erected Tent could hide disturbed earth; or a
chugging Barge to clog up clay and clods of mud
over not yet decayed fingers and thumbs. A
Farmhouse has a credible need of a pyre like
an Igloo’s plausible need for ice. A Tudor revival
wouldn’t want anything of the sort. Then I imagine
how the rooms would react: bathroom tiles cracking
into brave smiles and kitchens hiding knives in fear of
another attack; staircases sagging like the confused
brow of a mourning man, a living room offended by
the very antonym of itself. I imagine what a
guilty house would look like… crocodile tears from
a Pacific Lodge and panicked lies of a Flounder, the
subtle reveals of a Dingbat. I doubt a Shotgun
would even try though, nor the Creole Cottage; just
accept its racial profiling. They’ve found a body in
my back yard. So, am I a church now I have a graveyard?
They scoop me up, I smell so good. Others come, and stand in line. People shifting, impatiently.
They pay money, as cash registers sing happily. Wide pleasing smiles appear when they reach for us.
One starts eating me before she returns to her seat. She sets me on the ground in a stall for a bit.
Picks me up, washes her hands, and dives in again. Her hands are cooler now, but I do not care.
It feels wonderful to be appreciated. My smell has permeated the theater now. Others are running
Toward the cash registers, eager to give their money, so they can begin diving into my relatives.
I hear my brothers and sisters laughing as they happily crack and pop. My dad smells so tasty!
My mother is smacking in delight as someone gulps her down. Ugh! A kernel one says.
I watch him spit my kernel cousin Jake onto the carpet. I feel sad as I watch a dustpan get him.
It would feel terrible, rejected like that. My family is a proud bunch. We are excited that
We are more popular than the stars and shows that brought this crowd here in the first place.
Good morning, Spring.
I saw you yesterday for the first time in 2024.
I did not know how long you had been standing
there. My wife saw you sometime before I did
but failed to inform me.
Honestly, Spring, although it is unseasonably
warm where we live, I did not expect to see
you in February.
Anyway, you are always beautiful and so full
of life, and yesterday was no exception. You
were pretty and pink in the peach tree, and
greenish with a tiny bit of white in the plum
trees, but the pear and pecan trees as well
as the crape myrtle trees were not ready for
your touch of Spring.
Oh, Spring, I hope you don't get hit this year
with a late spring freeze. That could change
everything.
It was great seeing you, my friend. I look forward
to many more of your great displays and beautiful
scenery. Until then, my dear Spring friend.
022824PS.
Yesterday the temperature was 111 degrees in my neck of the woods, and today is much like yesterday except for a degree or two on the down. Don't we just love those weak cooling trends? The forecast promises a week's supply of 100 plus days in secession. This is the first major heat wave of Mr. Summer, and Mr. AC reluctantly went on this morning in the 9 O'clock hour. Mr. AC looked at me questionably and said, "Are you sure about this?" I said to him, "Of course I am indeed sure about that and I'm counting on you to faithfully execute your God-given duty of keeping us cool".
Mr. Summer never ceases to live up to his name, often bringing massive wild fires and lots of pain. Man-made cooling and few if any power shortages are what I'm praying for and expecting until Mr. Autumn arrives.
Mr. Autumn and Miss Spring are two of my favorite friends, and every year I look forward to them. Being very aware of Mr. Summer's actions, Mr. Autumn is pleading for some relief, but is patiently waiting his own season. Mr. Autumn promises faithful delta breezes cruising through the central valley like a luxury ocean liner docking port to port. He will bring color filled leaves bathed in beauty, falling from the trees like snow flakes in Mr. Winter 's world.
Mr. Autumn speaks to us with the spirit of gratitude in the language of harvest, of reaping, and the scales of balance. He bridges the gap of hot and cold, rendering solace to our souls. Mr. Autumn knows no greed. He speaks the language of a feeder. He's a giver and not a taker. He's indeed a God send.
081620PSCtest, Serenity Awakened, Regina McIntosh
Man suffers in life
because he takes
so seriously, what
the gods created
for fun.
He's entangled in
his own carnal desires,
which keeps him in bondage,
unable to progress his soul.
Life is a merry go round
and earth is the playground.
Where man can be amused by
his carnal desires, achievements,
enjoyment, social status
and his ego.
Man became a lover
and slave to these things.
Which brought upon
himself, his own greed
and suffering.
Forgetting where he came from,
how he got here, and
where to go after his
game is over.
Man must be stripped
from his name, career,
possessions, and his personality
in order to find his individuality.
Without ever knowing this,
he will always be the cause
of his own suffering.
He must detach from
his mortal self and return
formless back to the light,
from which he came from.
I sprouted from a small seed planted firmly in the ground
With refreshing drinks of water my size it can confound!
My long legs must be supported, or I could stoop and bend
I love being out of doors where the sun is my best friend!
I’m a great sun worshipper and my face follows the sun
I tower over small plants, being tall is so much fun
On sunny days I tan my face; my seeds turn golden brown
Small children look up at me, hoping that my seeds drop down!
I’ve been told that I’m the tallest bloom in the flower bed
Some think I’m conceited, I’ve got such a giant head
Birds attack my face when they peck my tasty stripy seeds
It doesn't bother me at all, I’ll cater for their needs!
136 words
Personification Poem 150 poetry Contest
Sponsored by Caren Krutsinger
05/28/21
You fleet so blithely, unaware
That here I stand, awash with care
My heart is heavy, lost to thrill
Of dreams deterred, it’s had its fill
I think of all that’s left undone
Of trophies that I haven’t won
Your blessings you did not bestow
Now time is short, and that I know
You mock me, Life, with hurtful glee
For me no joyous jubilee
My zenith, passed, my strength has waned
But tell me Life, what have you gained?
One less soul to tempt your fate
And as I linger at the gate
So loathe to leave you, though unkind
In death no solace can I find
So in this time that still remains
Come let us kiss, forget the pains
Life, be enticed to lover’s tryst
Grant me the joys that I have missed
Let’s fall in love, before I’m gone
Admit, dear Life, you’ve done me wrong
Let passion bless my dying days
For only then, I’ll sing your praise
Inflame my veins with your embrace
No tortured thought, but blissful grace
Life, intercourse with you is sweet
In this full bloom, the end I’ll greet
Bathed in the beauty of release
Where every conscious thought must cease
In afterglow of ecstasy
Please end my life, and let me be
Eileen Manassian
*Suicide*
Suicide is not the answer,
But there's no option..
People fight for there stand,
People fight within themself..
Nothing been on there side,
None is there to support them..
Suicide is not the answer,
But there's no option..
Life is just a race,
Love, care, respect are left behind..
Blaming insulting are trending,
As money can buy love, respect, care..
Suicide is not the answer,
But there's no option..
People say how coward he is,
when he was alive none supported..
He fought hard,
He fought with himself..
Suicide is not the answer,
But there's no option..
broken heart been heard louder,
Now money speak louder..
It's a fight within himself,
he is a fighter..
Not a loser,who fought till his last breath..
_veer