Long Poesy Poems
Long Poesy Poems. Below are the most popular long Poesy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Poesy poems by poem length and keyword.
Instilled flesh and blood of romance in poesy,
That, till then, looked a skeleton-like cogency...!
Gave life to Mother Nature who, once, was ignored,
From you on, in a new form, nature got adored...!
Physical and psychic growth of humanity,
You said, like nectar in blooms, secrete sanity...!
Should observe and understand nature's mysteries,
To give shape to true universal histories...!
With sole romantic soul, one should communicate,
Should, communion with the self and supreme create...!
Nature ever enlightens the humble in heart,
Inspires to bring out the best of creative art...!
The universal brotherhood of beings, forms,
When harmony with nature turns true cosmic norms...!
The truth comes alive in the heart through true feelings,
Peace and freedom must permeate human dealings...!
Wrote your life in poetic form as the prelude,
Your paths, midst happiness, often seemed rough and rude...!
Truths you said and did and lived full till reached eighty.
Got wrapped with nature with your entire entity...!!!
12 January 2023
Beloved Poets Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Regina McIntosh
A restless yearning to make all brokenness whole,
An unquenchable thirst of finding the life's soul;
An endless desire to explore this universe,
A child-like fancy with moon and stars to converse…
To gather pearls of poesy scattered around,
And compose them into songs with music profound;
Care for little flowers of all colors and forms,
To wreath them garlands for martyrs withstood all storms...
Though with, meager quill and ink, bring revolution,
And thus, in this world, accomplish my true mission;
To expose the wounds of broken humanity,
And heal them with medicos of fraternity...
To live, never grumbling, the life, given to me,
Like birds, bees, and flies, forever, happy and free;
To share this happiness with everyone I see,
Make this world harmonious love-filled symphony...
All these are so easily said than done, I know,
Are the seeds of these, yet, so difficult to sow?
Impossibilities bow before tireless strife,
Why can't this striving be the motive of my life?
“Strive constantly to serve the welfare of the world; by devotion to selfless work one attains the supreme goal of life” (Bhagavad Gita 3:10)
22 July 2021
MOTIVATION Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Shreya LN
Chess--
It's a sixty four square board divided fight
Chessman rise, move among spaces out·right
It's high contrast, black and white
We sit over a table small
Making moves with our brains to a forward crawl
Both keeping mysteries to a concealed en·thrall
You a player... I'm game
White goes to start, me ac·claim
A superior approach, is it's aim
Moves are made, adapting, changing strategy exactly
With shapes, thoughts, expressing their beauty abstractly
Winning a piece, losing a piece, sacrificing a piece craft·i·ly
A real battle of good and evil
Trickery of territorial maneuver upheaval
Two little armies, stare at each other gleeful
Scheming to corner and overthrow the King
Ruler, Master of the board- - however, the most weak thing
When Master caught, checkmate; the battle end resulting
To the po·et·ics just penned
Peerless with poesy wisdom blend
The chess game war that end
Is a result of being outdone
By strategic attacks that begun
Five moves ahead of the residum
From the shadows of the old tree,
she emerges, her form unlike any
I have seen, her eyes would shame
the twinkles of a thousand stars,
as the rays of purity doth my sins.
''Has thee not sinned enough? for I,
lie here with thy face etched in my soul''.
Her cascading hair, not could the
magical yarns of the Gods bear.
My yearning soul looks upon thee
eyes for a poesy that will
never be written, a feeble flicker
dawns, for thou art be not mere love,
thou art a passion, by which I lay smitten.
The wilt'd roots flourish as the beauty
overwhelms, hath she come from God's realms....
'tis not mine, to angst about,
but dear lord, canst thou
have mercy upon a poor soul,
grant a wish that plagues
the very nature of me?
Attempted paint by numbers, but it cheats with letters
that mix in unexplainable hues, distorting, desecrating -
I’m complaining. Not at all lavender in the sky, but peach.
It bobs at eye-level. I try to slather it
with a more acceptable color, then swim underwater.
That color, likewise betrays, lies, cannot sway
me to keep this set of paints nor its decrepit cardboard.
So I have no idea how to paint with instructions - it ain’t
but a distraction, a muse gone wrong - brush doesn’t belong
in my hand. Perhaps I will pull yarn through a loom
and let a flower or such bloom; or poesy a catastrophe…
When accidental
auroras stroll along
the pale highlights of
camouflaging corpses
and death blossoms
in vulturous hearts of
dreadful puppets,
she always holds
pixie dusts of
strawberry seeds within
october's obsidian quartz.
Gaze beyond those
glass-stitched horizons,
as she cracks the
carmine cocoon of
judgemental juxtapositions
and transforms
carbon-coated
milliseconds to
magenta-gold
pronunciation of
peaceful phrases.
She is a silken
cream-dove,
floating above
murky musings of
redolent rhinestone-
reveries.
As prismatic primroses
shall cleanse every
sin from the witching
spellbook, she will waltz
in whispering lulls of liberty,
emancipating from
chloroform-stained
chains of blood-
scented blames.
Her sunflower-shield
and aurous
summer-sword of
amber poesy
can slice spicy
silhouettes of
graphite goblins,
she will never
surrender to those
misinterpreting
megalomaniac minds,
who twirl along
masquerading rivulets
of manipulative
assumptions.
She is the shiniest roar
above grimoires of grief,
like an 'unassailable purity',
washing away
emerald exhales of pain,
who mutes each cosmic
raven's lament and
distils russet-white-lilies with
her alchemical aroma.
I like to write in verse- I like to tell stories
sometimes, I will rhyme sometimes I shake up my poesy
so, lets take a trip down my memory lane-
my writing is deep and dark at times
often my poetry is of nature that chimes
when I pick up my pen there is often pain
I write for me and you, I write to break the chain
why just yesterday, I stopped to write these lines . . .
on a country road
under a pale hazy sky
wheat swayed and danced,
I could have stayed forever
with birds soaring and screeching . . .
________________________________________
May 21, 2020 (Edit from September 23, 2016)
Poetry/Rhyme/Verse/I Like To Write
Copyright Protected, ID 20-1253-762-03
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Submitted to Brian's Choice O Contest
sponsor, Brian Strand
Third Place
Bought some Gerber daisies from a roadside stand,
Sign said “four dollars, just leave the money in can”
I chose several bunches of brightly coloured blooms,
Drove home quickly as without water, wilting looms.
I took the flowers to my Hospice where I volunteer,
Wanting only to make things better, trying to be sincere,
While many take for granted the beauty of the petal,
On the Dining tables, the bunches in vases settle,
These dying people were so grateful for such a small token,
This may be their last spring flowers, these thoughts unspoken.
Written July 17, 2011
For “Any Poesy contest”
Contest placement: 5th
Tumbling words are falling . . . .
overwhelming my sleepy head
saturating my vivid imagination
oceans of sweet creativity flow
streams of deep reflection
breaths of beautiful perception
words tumbling and falling
from my pen creating a poesy . . . .
_____________________________
December 14, 2019
Poem/List/Tumbling Words
Copyright Protected ID 19-1208-733-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for FFI Blog Series 36 - Catalog
Brian Strand
Podium Place 1
Simple ways work
A magic route;
Ideas pop-up
To write new verse
I do not try;
I sharpen intent
Words come in waves
Surely and truly;
I decipher rhymes
No need to rush
I wait for surge;
Embrace what comes
No agendas
Only firm desire;
Then wordplay crafts
Each poem sums
A deeper need;
Instrument of soul
Joy lives in calm
New words in charm;
Urge sets me free
No need to cite
Or even write;
Love speaks with voice
I simply wait
Patience works best;
Poesy is shy
To write well
I do not try;
Soul takes over
Eleventh hour panic
Then muse attends;
Surge of new merge
Voice echoes call
Heart takes the hint;
Fine verses attend
In vivid voice
Heed choice sublime;
Greet rhymes in time
What I am thinking
Brings more to think;
I transcribe feelings
Inner voice chants
Stillness flings anew;
Mindful conversations
Leon Enriquez
08 August 2014
Singapore