Long Plays Poems
Long Plays Poems. Below are the most popular long Plays by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Plays poems by poem length and keyword.
I am unsure if there's some general word I am going for, but it best fits into the mix, and that would be, 'inspiration.' Having that said ... straight to the heart of the matter ... my mom.
Self-driven, accomplished, multi-talented, advocator of The Word, loving daughter, sister, cousin, wife, mother, aunty, grand and great-grandmother, and lastly, not a stranger to people kind of a person, more like, "Is she your mom!", kind of a people person, ... and kind too.
Her talents beyond The Word were in music. She plays any musical instrument, from a tambourine to an accordion, and the organ to the drums. Practically everything in between like a harmonica, but her ace was the ukelele and guitar.
She composed hundreds of songs, wrote all the lyrics and accompanying medleys.
Today, her compositions grace many churches in the country, besides Hawaii, since she traveled a lot being an Evangelical minister.
If it wasn't for poetry, I'd be a 60's year-old kid who never had a mom.
Imagine a woman peeking out from the shower curtain…
Accompanying captions on the side appear
“I asked 100 women what shampoo they preferred?
The #1 answer to my survey was certain,
How’n blankety blank did you get in here?”
Managed perception creates confusion;
the picture plays a neat trick on the brain.
There was no survey, just a joke that's offbeat.
The words and the wordster are in collusion
like men who have an image to maintain.
What appeals to men is her ballyhoo.
Are they looking for shock, dismay or fear?
In the photo, she's a picture of "discreet".
"Survey" has nothing to do with shampoo,
when in doubt, turn his question on its ear -
"Why do they put directions on shampoo bottles?”
I will love you until you can hear
And fully understand my intentions.
It's not puppy love. It's about dedications.
I love you with an incredible passion, dear.
I'm serious and dedicated to our relationship.
I'll stop loving you until the rooster stops singing.
This is clear; I will never stop loving you, darling.
Hence, you are the woman's captain of my ship.
The rooster will never stop singing coco-rico,
Therefore, I will never stop loving you coucou.
Love should be a two-way street with a rainbow
Where each angel plays a lute, a flute and a bamboo.
Copyright © April 2019, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
She writes like Maya
She sings like Aretha
She dreams like Coretta
She reads like Oprah
She speaks like Barbara
She plays like Serena
She rocks like Tina
She rolls like Donna
She entertains like Diana
She cures like Maria
She paints like Edmonia
She kicks like Mia
She runs like Wilma
She throws like Lisa
She boxes like Laila
She dances like Anna
She skates like Surya
She invents like Patricia
She revolts like Angela
She influences like Condoleezza
She paints like Edmonia
She smiles like Mona Lisa
She loves like a mother
She protects like a tiger
She prays like Mother Theresa
And she cooks like momma.
Dear readers, you can add more
A natural woman is never poor
Please, beloved friends, be kind
To come up with more in your mind
She tumbles like Simone
She philosophizes like Simone
She quilts like Betsy
She laughs like Whoopi
She jokes like Leslie
She sings like Marie
She speed skates like Maame
She flies like Mae
She exercises like Gabby
She educates like Mary
She fights like Dorothy
She explores like Stephanie
She sounds like Winnie
She creates like Margaret
She dares like Harriet
She runs like Marion
She entertains like Josephine
She legislates like Maxine
She sows like Catherine
She teaches like Gwendolyn
She lifts like Ernestine
She acts like Diahann
She reports like Diane
She speaks like Michelle
She is serious like Michelle
She is strong like Althea
She is talented like Augusta
She is defiant like Cicely
She is brave like Shirley
She is normal like Marilyn
She is fearless like Maxine
She is relaxed like Rosa
She is inquisitive like Barbara
She challenges like Phyllis
She swings like Chris
She plays like Alice
She is talented like Venus
She is pretty like a flower
And she is like our mother.
A natural woman is not perfect
She deserves honor and respect
She needs love everyday
From trouble, she never runs away
Please add more to this poem
And do not curse or blaspheme
She writes like Maya
She sings like Aretha
She dreams like Coretta
She reads like Oprah
She speaks like Barbara
She plays like Serena
She prays like Mother Theresa
And she cooks like our mama.
Copyright © August 2018, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
He seems like jolly Santa driving a beat-up car
loaded with lots of presents and while driving
he'll be caroling, greeting everyone waving
at him; and they should put on happy faces,
be kind to each other and exchange embraces...
never thinking it's old-fashioned and bizarre!
O Yule giver, reach out with your kindness,
it's the Holiday Season...why be so greedy,
and not share with the ones less fortunate?
O Yule giver, touch them with your generosity
and they will once again believe in love, not hate!
O Yule give, touch everyone's heart with your gifts!
The festive avenues are the mirror of wonderland,
shops displaying animated figures with merry eyes,
as music plays in a background of twinkling lights;
why shoppers are in such a rush...will the sales soon end?
Look at you, Yule giver...you ring your golden, glittering bell
and spread the Christmas cheer: you have a story to tell!
O Yule giver, remind them who will be born tomorrow:
a Savior and King to take away their pangs of sorrow,
will they believe you and gather around to listen?
They may have never heard of His birth announced by trumpets:
was a stable fit for a heavenly king who God had gladly chosen?
But why such humbleness from above...to instill love in proud hearts?
O Yule giver, you will dazzle and amaze them with a reading from the Holy Book,
and if all stopped and heard of the Nativity story Herod hated:
the smiling babe, who wears no crown would certainly look,
and invite them in to worship Him whom a virgin conceived...
O Yule giver, proclaim the Shepherd who promises eternal joy:
seeing no color or race, but welcomes everyone into the kingdom of endless glory!
Entered in Linda-Marie's contest,
" Holiday Hearth "
Written by Andrew Crisci
The jaws sing
As the drip, drip, drip,
Of the petroleum chorus
Dances across
The inverted aluminum
And the hissing starts
And the hissing stays
Its smell a warning
A final omen
Like the last rose
Of summer
Or the fragrance she wore
For that final goodbye
The teeth tear inward
Like the regret for today
And the regret for yesterday
And the lament for tomorrow
Its promise broken
And your khakis red
And baptized
A stigmata
To self infliction
As the music plays constant
And the rushing you feel
An emptying of sorrow
Onto the crushed ceiling
Of a dream in reverse
Of all life in reverse
Until two arms grab you
And you fall from the sky
And you fall from the sky
Waiting
For the ground
To coronate the outcome
And for one more answer
To a 'why' unquestioned
And to love you one more time
But the lights are now dim
And the voices muffled
As an organ can be heard
And store bought flowers smelled
And an old woman cries…
As a young woman cries…
And a stranger pronounces
What you feared the most
They didn’t know you
And couldn’t know you
The exit sign flashing
But there is no door
“There is no door”
—and then the music stops
(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)
Amidst the rustling leaves and gentle breeze,
The symphony of nature never seems to cease.
Birds chirping melodiously in the trees,
A musical ensemble that's sure to please.
The rustling of the leaves like a soft lullaby,
A soothing melody that can calm the mind's eye.
The chirping of the birds, a joyful tune,
As they dance and play beneath the moon.
The rush of the river, the crashing of the waves,
A harmony that nature constantly engraves.
The gentle patter of the falling rain,
A rhythmic beat that helps ease the pain.
Nature's orchestra, a masterpiece divine,
A symphony that plays with every breath and line.
Each note a wonder, each sound a work of art,
Nature's symphony, forever in our hearts.
In the warmth of a summer sunset, I sat idle,
on the sea shore looking at the grey enormity
that heaved and swelled in turn.
Before me was the wild brutality of the sea!
Though at times she is calm and windless,
a smouldering volcano lies beneath her surface.
I sat away from the crowd in a cool square of quiet
inhaling the briny air, enjoying the foam and spray
My mind then was light as that of a child,
that plays on the sea shore, making sand castles.
I watched small boats carrying men.
They were heading towards the Casino
moored in the inlet of the sea.
I felt those men were like flies lured by the flame.
They come either to perish or to prosper,
most of them go back with empty wallets!
My eyes stretched far into the horizon.
Swallows were circling beneath tangled clouds.
The tall masts of ships could be seen at a distance
and ever growing waves drifted and strayed
as the fabric of blue got continuously shredded.
For fun I scribbled my name on the sands,
but a wave came crashing and washing it away
Was it here or there, I had scrawled my signature,
I don’t know. It has vanished leaving no trace.
Suddenly from a child, I grew into a sage.
How transient is man’s life on Earth
How tiny we are set against the vastness of the sea
In the wide expanse of life, as on a sea shore,
we scribble our names to stay.
Alas! Some unknown hands wipe them away
I am myself, I am only me, I'm unlike anybody.
Inside my head daydreams swim around, some are light, some are profound. Some are dark like the deepest deep. In the shadow of sadness I sit and weep.
In the darkness I try to sauce light but there is nothing, no dim flicker no tunnel of hope, swallowed up with nothing, not a glimpse of glowing.
I am dead inside no feelings for the world around me, the darkness closes and the depression drowns me, I've lost my way and I can't find who I used to be.
I pray for an angel to come my way and direct me to the path to which I have strayed.
No angels come only the nightfall stays, I'm living with bad memories that chip away at me every day.
Somehow I find strength from a place unknown, the misery releases me and I'm back home. I am happy now, I feel so alive or is this just a wicked cruel disguise?
I pray this feeling will stay this time but I'm waiting and waiting for it to be gone, I can't even enjoy my happiness for the fear of losing it, once more returning to the bleakness for another trip, a living hell with no feeling in it.
I don't want to go back I hate it there, the depths are the darkest and its too much to bare.
At times it creeps slowly all sly and coy it treats me like it's toy, and plays with me until I am destroyed.
I pray for its grasps to release me and give me over to this ecstasy. I'd rather be high and live in a cloud in their light fluffy puffiness I'd never be down. I'd bask in the light the sun has given as a gift, filling my sole with a positive lift.
I might be down and I might get back up but I am who I am and i can be no one else.
Sitting by a moss-covered tree illuminated by sunlight at three,
he plays the very song that his anscestors played yesterday;
remembering what the peaceful and wild land was and will be...
by accepting the fact that his tomorrow is decided by destiny.
He can spend an entire afternoon playing a hand-made flute color chestnut,
as every breeze-lulled maple tree seem to vanish in the increasing, grey fog;
and if his music with shrilling, melodic notes is a devise to find his stranded dog,
he will have the best friend to guide him safely home through beams of twilight.
Play, handsome warrior the melody you forefathers played on those efflorescent days
underneath the same oak tree to celebrate their free manhood;
and resembling them with long hair and piercing, dreaming eyes,
you don't expect that intruders from other lands would compromise your happiness.
Foxes, grizzly bears, coyotes and buffaloes hear your music and come around to peek:
they know that you wouldn't hurt them and they wonder who's the Great Spirit;
little they suspect that they will be hunted down by the new-comers from the East;
be their friend, warrior...promise them protection when they'll encounter the Beast.
All that you behold today, may be gone tomorrow making you weep,
grasslands and prairies will tun into towns and cities to make way for greed;
and blood will flow abundantly on meadows where only wildflowers grew...
devastation everywhere with mother's screams by red rivers not so blue.
You must have had dreams of what was coming with a spectacle so gruesome,
take heart...your tomorrow is decided by destiny, pray that you won't be harmed;
continue playing your flute by remembering everything that you deeply loved,
and if you'll die fighting heartless men, I'll remember that look so lonesome.