Long Personify Poems
Long Personify Poems. Below are the most popular long Personify by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Personify poems by poem length and keyword.
*Holly (Vault Dweller)*
Hey bartender,
Who's that girl over there,
The one nursing the whiskey in the corner,
She has that press hat one that makes her look...strangely debonair.
*Bartender*
That'll be our little Ms. Piper Wright,
She runs the local paper,
Spends all day looking for a story then types the rest of the night,
Bit standoffish at first but quite the looker.
*Holly*
Hahah I'll say,
Just look at that red trench-coat and suit,
And that piercing stare,
Comes off tart as a mutfruit,
But it just bounces right off her wavy hair,
And goooosssh those lips,
Their silky sheen betrays the steel of her gun,
Dangling from her buxom hips,
Armed with an unabashed tongue,
Clearly her deadliest weapon,
Complimenting her feisty spirit perfectly preserved in an hourglass figure both fair and young,
Fully stocked with an arsenal of wisecracks, worthy armaments for free speech's most sensuous bastion,
Avid journalistic endeavors personify her inquisitive nature,
Reporting the most controversial conspiracy or the latest Publick Occurrences,
With jaw-dropping headlines fueled by her insatiable determination not even the mayor can escape her snooping typewriter,
How this vixen has eluded both the aging of time and voraciousness of lovers is beyond me,
And I think I'm allllmost drunk enough to go over and talk to her,
Should only take me another couple of rounds before I'll have the guts to...ah who am I kidding,
I'm over 200 years old there's no way she'd ever go for a pre-war relic regardless of who well preserved.
*Bartender*
News flash buddy, she's single,
Read today's headlines and you might find the subtle hints,
Listen to her playful comments of life and lust weaved in-between the innocuous babble,
The words may take their place in the articles but her true message is hidden underneath the paper's yellow tint,
She's young and lookin for love just the rest of us here in the Wasteland,
So what've you got to loose hotshot go get her,
Or do you need another round on the house give you the upper hand?
*Holly*
Well damnit bartender one more round it is,
If you don't from her till morning it'll be one of two things,
Either I've been utterly rejected and lying in a ditch,
Or I'll be too busy ignoring the world trying to make her mine.
Bottle of tears is my first version of this poetic legacy series
Skeleton of tears is which the venerated versatility carries.
This might be called as a sequel of alacrity or prolongation
But best before this is a celluloid and my heart and art collaboration.
In this poem “I or me” signify tears
Tears personify her expressions and emotions
Read this and know the life legacy of tears with concentration
And finally your fur, fleece and fuzz stand erect in attention.
Tears personify, I am compacted in stars
I am compressed between hurdles and wars
I am combusted on scorches
I am confided from Ishtar torches.
Tears epitomize, eternal bone of mine is an ominous emotion.
The Sagaras; Sarpada, Satluj shaded a challenge to my dire destination.
That one eve ever the fever of cleavers cannot catch up with me.
And the damp humidity of drought could not cope up with me.
Tears embody, I float on the branches of poignant army
I flood around the builds of happiness
I reach the borders of hell-heeled layers
And I roof down the clouds to my feet and make them rain prayers
Tears swank ,When my real steel sizzled atoms of blood,
Come together to conjure a flood.
The heated ink of emotions ignites to molt the black clouds
And let me visualize in which eve shall it swounds.
Tears exemplify, my liberty leads the immense flame in the hands of torch bearer
My prodigy evokes the waves hard under visions of volcanoes
The lust of my silvered glory was inspired from the shiny heavenly threads of feudal dart.
And the symptom of my introduction will be the rise of a burning heart.
God of hostility typify: Convinced that the fever of lava can't cope up with me
And the humidity of drought can"t hope up the level with me
In such a water working poem this is the conclusion
That even the pacific evaporate when my eternal strength feel thirsty after a tear solidification.
And now the spirits incarnate, my iron lungs had oxidized with the bitter-sour chilled water
after reading it and they crackled their internal matter into ignitious crater.
And now I will come to compete with and complete the legacy BOT(Bottle of Tears)
In the new form and with new fire firmed eyes to show you the third part “Kingdom for Disarmament of Tears ”.
4/14/2016
Line of inquiry:
“as we passed her she did wilt
which caused in us sense of guilt
since our stance perhaps did cause
to put her heart’s joy on pause
though we’re gentle, not hostile
we diminished her soul’s smile
since our aura as she viewed
scent of love did not exude”
~ Unseeking Seeker
******************
Are we perceived as hostile beings
by flora that we tend in our gardens?
If we intimidate petals of peonies
each time we walk past their stems,
we should make amends and ask for pardon.
Is the pink tint of their blush mistrust of us?
Withering zinnias and wilting wisteria!
We wouldn't want to burden them with fear
when we speak of how lovely they'd look
in a crystal vase, set upon our parlor mantle.
To ease their worry and not cause their tears,
in our pockets, we don't carry pruning shears.
We personify flowers as if they have feelings—
but do our innuendos have that effect on people?
We label shy ones as loners or 'wall flowers'
who pull back, often going unnoticed for hours.
Do some of us unintentionally cause that reaction?
If this proves true, we need to take a moment
to have in depth contemplative consciousness,
a change in our stance and make an atonement
if it's determined we're at fault— guilty.
If so, our aura indeed has need of correction.
One that shows us emanating a kinder reflection.
The one who wilted as we passed by—
was she the shrinking Violet we refused to see?
Would we bring her heart joy if we paused
and spoke to her with a gentle greeting?
Words that would give the fragile one cause
to not think of us as hostile and vile?
If a kind word is spoken with a sincere smile
wouldn't those greetings be worthwhile?
It's plausible that we'd then have a pleasant scent,
the treacly aroma of consideration and love.
Time taken to say, 'hello' would've been well spent.
Hold out a hand as a metaphorical invitation to dance.
It might give a wallflower the confidence and the chance
to stand tall and no longer cringe at being approached.
If we've been at fault for diminishing the smile in souls,
offer them emotional strength. Be someone who consoles.
Can you listen up to my heart beat
Or is it the beats from that beat?
It's the radio,
Then it goes on gently
Yes, like a long thin snake
Where uuh, where huu!
Could be... couldn' t be
Could be my heart is beating like the radio,
Snake! Beat into bits,
Where huu o, where huuo,
I can float easily or deep in underwater
Like gold fish of the pacific,
Just like Titanic
It surges and lush gently,
Can i go and speed in a car
And feel the beat carry me higher?
Not me if i were you, not me
Should i...should n't i ?
Whether i am sleeping or playing
Work and awake,
Not me if i were you, not me
If i fall down i will stand up myself,
Just as if i am drunk with the beat
And dance like the Go go hit,
Go steady and slow so gently,
I have seen the bride dance perfidiously,
Take care buddy, take care
Have i...have n't i ?
No one is called we have come
Herself! Mixed and missed,
Take care buddy, take care
It dwindle...it dwindle and it dwindle,
Something or some one is sounding so blissfully,
It is sonic groovy,
And is off the wall hit
And it bade encore
All through the evening,
O! Michael, Michael's legendary is like Michaelangelo,
Singing and dancing all through like a yoyo,
It's that beat of bit of a change of face
Could made you lose your grace,
You have painted the face with colourful-colours,
Exposed to the brush and erase that smear on the nose,
You adjusted the thrilling lips off the *****,
And the eyes have they tune up to lustful glare,
The cheek o! so Da Vinci's Mona Lisa, that! cheeks
You were infamously infuriating,
So provocatively humanly bad
You were endearing to the last,
In toto, you were a king of the whirlwind,
In tete, you were the prince of applause,
And tata, you were the sire of controversy,
You were... the messiah of all possibility,
You were... the song personify,
The melody in the throat of a trumpeter,
And the soulful largo largesse of a crooner,
It dwindle...it dwindle...it dwindle...
Then sefini
Tata.
The Words I haven't spoken... have held me back for many years,
And thoughts of blame and worry... for to many times I've tasted tears,
For a preacher tries to guild his flock... so many times i failed,
For i have looked up at an empty sky... to bring him back oh how I've wailed,
And now three days and counting... until Herman ratcliff lands on solid ground,
Should I become the man i set out for... 15 yrs ago that's still not found,
Am I lost in the abyss of misery , will this mind ever reach it's peace,
Or for this minds sake and principle with this man just reach for a peice,
Will i get mashed up like potatoes...even 2nd in command he got it wrong,
I just did the best I could...just out of reach reach to get it right he wished for solid
ground,
It's not racial or racist to many eyes it seems to be...it's just the make up and break up
of a fictitious family to be,
But Herman you messed up when you crossed Bennett and olive and fate struck my brother
down...for I will smile upon the day they toss you corpse inside the ground,
I hope that right before you die that you see and remember me...that i'm the boy that
became a man in spite of what your young self has done to me,
Say kiss my butt to my mom one more time and see what happens to your seed...I'll erase
from the history books...and they won't remember nothing but me,
The east side Earegood boogie man will creep all through your life...down ever broken
corner you rome...the word irrelevant will personify your life,
I'm the man that's still a boy that tasted tears all through his life...that messed up a
million times in this messed up thing we called life,
I got my sympathies for you that I've seen that side of change...you didn't do anything
but get caught up you say your actions to you were strange,
No degree, no trade, just some years to degrade, your mind and soul you try to keep up but
inside you die...Oh how I wish you'd see these eyes,
No apologizing..no way to get out...what the fates have lined up for us theres no one to
hear you scream and shout....Michael Earegood II
Two kings, one queen looked upon my quiet self as I sat.
Asked I was to appear before them one quiet spring day.
They sat there for moments which seemed like hours.
The first king spoke and said what a shame I had been.
That my career was full of shambles, change I did not accept.
Many people had spoken about physical sickness I spread.
I asked if my designation had suffered so much, why was it now,
Being scrutinized and corrupted by such, and not sooner.
Time had passed and my charm was well and then fell from grace.
While as well maybe I should be the peasant, another to my place.
Haunted, devastated by the words the royalty uncovered.
I was dismissed from their presence, while tears gathered inside.
Like an overflowing bucket, straining, I held them inside.
They formed a gel that hardened my soul and body so quick.
Feeling the jiggling, I somberly left the town of my existence.
Anger raged and boiled the gelatin to a more lucid state.
First one drip from left then following from the right,
Jumbled thoughts swirled the now liquid of salt and grime.
Poured over the humiliation shield, this had buffered me,
Tears of the ages that I had stored ran freely, so rapid.
Inhalations of the fluid that cleanses heartaches, poured out.
Exploding into a landslide, like sudden storms pounding rain.
These supposed to be droplets had grown like hailstones.
Flooding my cheeks, causing a waterfall over my lips,
I tried to wipe them away only to find more that followed.
As in the torrential rains of a summer storm that hammer,
Then heated by the sun to return to flow down again and again,
This river that ran over my entire being was to never return.
Just absorbed into my skin, saltiness to glimmer my sin,
My spirit broken though capturing and rebuilding my soul,
These lucid deluges washed my humiliated grime on the ground.
They have never surged a reenactment and never shall return.
written by
Cecil Hickman
written for
Sponsor HGarvey Daniel Esquire
Contest Name Personify A Tear
If I could personify my heart
I would see a lost, young girl
though her face seems child like and naive
her eyes are wise and cautious, aware of the world.
She stands near the edge of a cliff
the frothy chilled ocean beneath her
confused and scared, she looks back
at the path that made her reconsider...
The trail through the trees is quiet
the gravel full of regret
the safe ground is fear and uncertainty
the gentle breeze, lonely and unable to forget.
She faces the ocean again,
preparing to make a wish with a token,
when she sees her lover, standing on a bridge below
with his strong arms wide open.
"Fall for me, Love," He shouts over the waves.
His love and smile are bright
"fall and I will catch you."
He patiently waits all day, all night.
"...And if you miss," She yells to him
"I will surely suffer," with sadness in her reply.
She gazes past him to the dark ocean
and relives past mistakes with a tear in her eye.
She's jumped this cliff before
fallen into past loves' strong hold.
More than once, she fell again
into the heartache filled ocean, so cold...
She feels the scars on her body,
physical reminders of emotional pain.
The plunge into the cold isolation is horrible;
unbearable is the desire to remain...
It takes courage and strength
to get out of the dark sea,
climb up the cliff face again and again,
to reach the plateau of numbness and safety.
"My love, I could never let you miss," he says.
" Don't you know the joy of your heart with mine, alive and on fire?
Burning like the sun, singing for me
with love in your eyes while you glow with desire?"
"My love, I am yours, from now until forever.
Have faith that my heart is true.
After all, when I fell, you caught me.
Now jump, sweet love, and let me catch you."
If I could personify my heart,
I would see a woman filled with love, hope, and charm
running towards the edge at full speed
and smiling like the sun as she jumped into his arms.
10-26-2009
the eveNing strayed into the dark evening shade.
we pick up a drink and sharpen Our knives.
hold on now, hold on a little longer
wield the sharpest edge
like clear glass
of lonely
pain
down deep
in My heart sO to steep
the moRe i grind life into feEling
warming my blue bLood by an Open fire.
a maN hiding in the darkest End of this
Life will not speak of his crying eYes.
i touch his glass and Pour out all
the sorrow. i leAve hIm
walkiNg to light of
love
Symbolism:
The shape of an award symbolizes the award given to a person who lets go of their pain and
is able to achieve the hidden message (capitalized letters): “NO MORE LONELY PAIN”.
The word “pain” is at the bottom of the upper portion of the poem. Where the knife cuts into
the heart, there is pain. This portion of the poem also describes the descent into depression
after the loss of love. The shape is a downward arrow or a knife being sharpened to a point,
ready to inflict pain. Also, the word "NO" is hidden in the capital letters to further signify the
negative emotion of this portion of the poem. This part of the poem pluralizes the subject,
making it seem impersonal as if to personify, "cold steel."
The second part of the poem is shaped like a heart. This portion of the poem focuses on one
subject, is more personal or intimate. It indirectly advises the reader, through the actions of
the one subject, to let go of one’s pain and pursue love once more, in essence, restarting
one’s heart, starting life anew.
The word “blood” is where the knife is cutting into the heart, blood will flow from the injury.
The word “love” is at the bottom of the second part of the poem. Love is the deepest
emotion, “from the bottom of the heart.”
The problem of the inclusive pronoun is still very much a problem for the writer, and needs an accepted solution. I tried for years with a suggested one of my own, but it never caught on. So here, I have simply alternated them--over and over!
Your Best Friend
You may not know him very well
and often slighted her at times
you needed him the most.
You neither heard nor gave a thought
to all the wisdom packed among
the secrets of her mind.
He fades from time to time,
and often thinks she is not wanted, nor
quite sensible enough to speak out boldly,
lest he bowdlerize the common sense
proclaimed by gilt-edged saints
enshrined in texts the priests
bear high above our nodding heads...
and would she dare to disagree?
But there he is--
and all the little thoughts churn
endlessly, and quite in vain.
She is your friend, conceived on skeins
of common cloth; his sources are
the mysteries the ages pass
to everyman, the flying residue
of concepts born of the enlightenment
that generates upon prolific shores
unseen--some call them mansions
of a heavenly domain where God resides.
I will not reduce such visionary
to a royal personhood, give him a sex
nor place him on a throne. She is
too much for anyone to pray to, bow before,
or lovingly array in ermine robes
and facial hair,
and that best friend denies his pedigree
to so assume.
And yet a modicum of faith preserves
a shred of confidence within
that she does not in plain reality,
so lead.
Your friend (and any God who may personify
himself) does so abound in unexplored
and virgin territory, that ready inspiration
is available to any meditator or philosopher
who stumbles over truth--best friend indeed!
No question is too much for her examination;
there are nuances to the myriad of answers
he may entertain, or at the least, confront.
No preachment is beyond her reach.
He leaves no clue to her identity, for
He is you!
~
“I don't paint dreams or nightmares, I paint my own reality.”
Frida Kahlo“
In the absence of love,
a childhood is shaped by the stars,
but when black smoke is the only impression in the light,
sorrows peel in soundless motions - slow burning.
When fate is sealed with a goodbye,
in an 'all I never asked for' moment,
the weight of fear appears as a niggling nightmare
in our personal book of dreams,
so we drift into an abyss of discarded destinies -
untamed we roam into a wildfire of lost souls.
I'm a silent knight unable
to suppress this wandering muse,
so I portray my darkness through rosewater ink,
which flows like a scarlet oasis of waterfalls,
merging into sapphire oceans of poetic heartbeats.
I blame my past for this saviour complex,
but battling demons has become my beautiful undoing.
Ugliness of sugar coated words,
hidden behind metaphorical daggers,
has engraved scars with unhealed wounds,
leading me upon a path resenting sealed emotions.
When nostalgic rain sings in sea shell whispers,
I wish I could hold the sun in my arms,
to stop me from pouring
in melancholic bleeding moonlight,
but my beloved's eyes resemble dandelion reveries,
reminding me of a fragrant bouquet of memories,
pleading to personify her in
petrichor perfumed poems.
Her scent resurrects my muse to life..
She always says:
"Never mind the moon, it's only a reminder of forgotten midnight promises."
How her heart is an island where my waves will eternally kiss her shores.
A sanctuary for my inner child to forever build sandcastles."
My destiny leads to the end of a rainbow,
which rests upon the ivory sands of her treasure -
where internal flames become calm.