Long Poet Poems
Long Poet Poems. Below are the most popular long Poet by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Poet poems by poem length and keyword.
Robert Sherriff 08/07/1954 - Australian - Poet -Author - Singer - Actor - American Historian – Photographer
The Rising Tide of Cyber Warfare and Military Robotics
Robotics - Ex-Machina In the evolving landscape of modern warfare, cyber warfare and military robotics have emerged as pivotal elements reshaping global conflict dynamics. From covert cyber operations to autonomous drones patrolling warzones, these technologies redefine military strategies and geopolitical alignments. They said it all started at Westworld.
The Role of Cyber
Warfare in Modern Conflicts Cyber Warfare as a Strategic Asset - Inception Cyber warfare has transcended its initial role as a supplementary tactic to become a core component of military strategy. It enables state and non-state actors to achieve strategic objectives without deploying traditional military forces.
Through cyber espionage, denial-of-service attacks, and misinformation campaigns, nations can disrupt adversaries' operations, weaken their economies, and influence political outcomes, often without firing a single shot.
Case Study: Stuxnet or Sky-Net
One of the most notable examples of cyber warfare is the Stuxnet worm, a sophisticated malware that targets Iran's nuclear facilities. This cyber-attack, attributed to the United States and Israel, demonstrated the potential of cyber weapons to inflict physical damage on critical infrastructure, highlighting the strategic value of cyber capabilities in modern conflict.
Implications for Global Conflicts Cyber warfare's asymmetric nature allows smaller nations or groups to challenge superpowers, shifting the balance of power and introducing new uncertainties in international relations. The blurred lines between cyber actions and conventional warfare complicate responses and escalate tensions, increasing the risk of unintended consequences.
The Evolution of Military Robotics and Autonomous Systems - I, Robot
Advancements in Military Robotics The rapid advancement of military robotics, including drones and autonomous vehicles, is transforming the battlefield.
These systems enhance operational efficiency, reduce human casualties, and allow new tactical possibilities. For instance, drones provide real-time intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance (ISR) capabilities, while autonomous ground vehicles support logistics and combat operations.
Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Goree Island
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: February/2014
I see the blood
of my ancestors
that swell
in the Atlantic ocean
on
Goree Island -
The unmerciful ill winds
that fell
over my people,
in Senegal,
on that
horrific night,
brought the European's,
across the Atlantic,
to our Village -
Everything
in the world
changed forever,
and
will never be forgotten,
when the "unthinkable"
cruel acts
of slavery,
cloaked my people
like
darkness in the night -
White men
dressed in British
formal attire,
brought with them,
bullwhip's, chains, machetes,
and rifles,
to capture us.....
to ENSLAVE us!
We were brutally beaten,
and
taken to
the House of Slaves,
on Goree Island -
The malice intent
of
the British,
intensified our
suffering
at the slave house,
as they
cuffed us to
the walls,
in neck, waist,
and
ankle chains -
Days would pass,
some of us died
from
diseases,
and
starvation,
while waiting
for
the slave ship
to come
from the Americas -
The hideous inhumane
acts
by the British,
sold us
as property,
as we were
auctioned off as
commodity,
to the Americas,
during
the Atlantic Slave Trade
The mournful ness
in our helpless eyes,
spoke of horrendous fear,
as a feeling of distraught,
distress,
and despair,
clothed us
like
death -
We are innocent people
that will never
see our families again
Our homeland again -
It's unfathomable,
to see black souls in chains,
taking those final usurious
steps towards the "Door Of No
Return,"
in the House Of Slaves,
which left its ugly mark,
on the whole global earth -
Once through
the Door Of No Return,
we were sold to the Americas,
and
faced a future of
severe beatings, burnings,
hangings, lynchings,
and
rape -
To this day,
ancient spirits
of
black people,
still scream in rage
on
Goree Island,
where an untold number
of us were
slaughtered,
and
branded
before walking
through the slave door,
of
an uncertain future -
The ominous clouds
of slavery,
will
forever cast
a dark shadow,
over the
House Of Slaves,
the Door Of No Return,
and the world -
Goree Island,
in the Atlantic Ocean,
will forever
cry tears of blood,
from the souls of
black people -
The poem "VANTABLACK" exhibits a profound exploration of emotions and existential themes. As a poet, one would appreciate the nuanced use of language and the depth of introspection conveyed through the verses.
The title, "VANTABLACK," immediately draws attention to the darkest substance known, emphasizing a profound sense of darkness or void that permeates the poem. The tumultuous street and the notion in flight evoke a sense of chaos and uncertainty, setting the stage for the emotional journey that follows.
The poet skillfully employs imagery and metaphor to convey the complex emotions experienced. The notion that "hastens in haste" and then "averts its gaze" suggests a fleeting and elusive quality, mirroring the transient nature of emotions. The descent of the heart's echo into a "crimson abyss" hints at the depth of emotional turmoil, perhaps symbolizing pain or longing.
The lines "Your name, I called, yet emptiness replied" and "A bloom of yours, I drew, withering away" express a sense of loss and unfulfilled connection. The act of calling a name and drawing a bloom implies a desire for presence and beauty, but the responses are characterized by emptiness and withering, adding a layer of melancholy.
The exploration of choices in the lines "Life's lines extend before me, To choose, where your love resides" delves into the existential theme of navigating through life's possibilities and seeking love. The word "resides" suggests a search for a meaningful connection within the vastness of life.
The recurring ritual mentioned in "This ritual unfolds each day" implies a cyclical nature of introspection and perhaps a daily struggle with emotions. The poet peers within, describing it as a "melancholy abode," suggesting that the internal landscape is characterized by sadness.
The concluding lines, "Where my heart, a vantablack canvas, remains," encapsulate the essence of the poem. The heart being a "vantablack canvas" signifies an emotional void, absorbing and reflecting no light, emphasizing the depth of emotional darkness or emptiness.
As a poet, one might commend the poet for the rich tapestry of emotions woven through carefully chosen words and metaphors. The poem invites readers to contemplate the complexities of human emotions, the ephemeral nature of connections, and the existential quest for meaning in the face of emotional voids.
Did Shakespeare ever fall in love?
A rose by any other name would
stink as sweet!
What would Y'eshua say if indeed
Magdalene was his favorite disciple?
What miracles would he impress her
with
So as to savor her forbidden apple?
O woman!
Is that why god made you last of all
nature's enviable beauty?
If before he said let there be light
You were the first thing his devine
eyes saw
I bet creation would have been a
different theory altogether.
If love at first sight was a figure of
speech
Then I swear I love you like a
metaphor
And your smile is a typo
They meant to say a simile
I will kiss your face like a blank page
And my lips will be the tip of my
pencil
Drawing drooling hieroglyphs like
the hand of god
Inscribing Ten Commandments of
Love
On the tablets of your breasts
Because my name is Moses
A stammerer on a voyage to save a
lonely soul
From the shackles of cynicism
On love affairs.
I would love to laugh while making
rough love to you
On the dark floor of my solitude cell
Where torn pages of amatuerish
poems lay as a carpet
Because you are my words:
Maybe your face is the sky
And your eyes are the stars
Maybe your laughter is a symphony
Of a million harps from a million
virgin angels
I have written about love a million
times
And still you remain elusive
A mystery
Are you an acrostic;
So each letter tells your tale?
Maybe a couplet or limerick?
Are you a sonnet? Or a ballad? Or a
metre without a rhyme?
Maybe you are a mere syllable I
mumble at every sudden ******.
Your body is a symmetry of regular
ryhthm
Consumate from five to seven
And back to five
Haiku:
Japanese poets should build a
pedestal for you
And all lustful lads
Should come and slink the slank at
your feet
Indeed lady,
Your gait and pride and smell of
shaven armpits and eyeballs might
make a eunuch have an ********
And that to me
Is amorous injustice!
Tell me,
What can a scribe do?
When all I write about is human
weakness
And wickedness?
When writing to me is an escape
from adjectives I can't utter over a
cup of coffee?
To me,
The strand of your hair alone
Deserves atleast umpteenth stanzas
of praise
A prerequisite.
If I say I love you
Will you giggle at my palpability?
Why bore you with parables
When all you yearn for is a touch
And forever?
I will say no more.
We Are The Ghost Dance Poets
by David Lee Herring (The Powwow Poet)
We come together from near and far
Like wise men following the star
from the sweet Grass Hills, We come to be filled
with the Spirit from on high
Holy Great Spirit in the Sky
Calls us to come together now
He’s our grandfather, he’ll teach us how
Peace and Love will prevail
For we are the Ghost Dance Poets
Summoned together by Great Spirit
Fighting this battle with pen instead of arrow
Taking the path that is the most narrow
Calling all humanity
to come together in unity
We paddle down the Zuni River
As through rusty red silt she slivers
On this quest to quench the thirst of our souls
we surrender all control
to the guidance of Great Spirit
We answer his Call as we hear it
With the rattle of the Gourd and the beat of the drum
We all come together as one
For we are the Ghost Dance Poets
Summoned together by Great Spirit
Fighting this battle with pen instead of arrow
Taking the path that is the most narrow
Calling all humanity
to come together in unity
Some begin their journey at Bear Butte
Others start their passage at Pahuk
All from different nations and tribes
For We are Great Spirit's Scribes
His poems pour forth from our tongues
We sing songs like our Fathers have sung
Prophetic rhymes of warning to mankind
earth is your mother, respect and love her
We all sprang up from her soil
Now we must all join in and toil
Gather and labor together to save her
For we are the Ghost Dance Poets
Summoned together by Great Spirit
Fighting this battle with pen instead of arrow
Taking the path that is the most narrow
Calling all humanity
to come together in unity
See, Wounded Knee could not stop the poets
Over a hundred years ago and We still hear it
The sound of the drum calling us to come
and all join together in the circle
And once again there'll be miracles
Bringing healing to our bodies and souls
As from all tribes together we dance
For Dance is a form of romance
It's Intimacy with the Holy One
As all of his daughters and sons
Worship the Father together as one
For that is how true healing comes
For we are the Ghost Dance Poets
Summoned together by Great Spirit
Fighting this battle with pen instead of arrow
Taking the path that is the most narrow
Calling all humanity
to come together in unity
Thanks to you all
Thanks to those who come to
poetrysoup.com, practise poems,
write, read and share poems
and comment on others
Thanks to those who read my
writings, do comments, follow
me, avoid my poems, block
and ban me from their list
Thanks to you all
I’ve no eternity here, all of me
from least to chest, best to edge,
sharpen blade of new paddy leaves
jeopardize my torn nib of ink
in the field of writings graph
Maybe I couldn’t write any word
for beauty and stunning young girl
in comprehension, in passion and
in my fashionable heart
Maybe I couldn’t write charming note
of flower’s petals, striking fragrance,
in my perpetuity lake of quills
Maybe I couldn’t draw the sexy body of
rose, lotus, tulip, sunflower, orchid,
lily, daffodil… etc in my vulnerable
reef of poetic expression
Maybe I couldn’t draw the colors magic
of rainbow in my infatuated fallen
soaked feathers with November rain
Maybe I couldn’t inscribe the nature
the cosmos, the solar system, the ocean,
the black hole, the space, the sky, the stars,
the planets, the galaxies, the meteors, the
gravitational power…etc in my slumbering
wings of writings
Maybe I couldn’t plant the meditational
tree into the pure heart of words, I couldn’t
select the seeds of immortality in my
ascetic madness and magma script
Maybe I couldn’t greet the autonomy flying
of Cockatiels, Parakeets, Canaries, Finches,
African Grey Parrots, Budgerigars, Cockatoos,
Conures, Macaws, Poicephalus…etc in my
unintelligible incarcerated language
Maybe I couldn’t hail the abode for Labrador,
Bulldog, German, Poodle, Beagle… etc and
Maine Coon, Egyptian Mau, American Bobtail,
Ragdoll…etc in my materialistic
harvesting terminology
Maybe I couldn’t sleep with power of poems,
dream to be a finest classic or modern poet
in my kingdom of pen, paper, ink, writing
table-chair and lamp
Notwithstanding all these, I thanks to those
who come here at least one time daily,
erratically and read, write, share own
thoughts and comment frankly
Thanks to you all a lot. Thanks and love you
all. From me always ready the rose without
thorns and love for you all, although you bleed
my heart by thorns stinging
-November 14, 2018 Chattogram
////
DEDICATED TO POETRYSOUP.COM and ALL POETS-POETESSES OF THIS ESTEEMED LITERARY SITE
MY SWEETHEART PART 2!
This love is from the bottom of my heart
I love you my sweetheart
You are the queen of my heart
Your heart belongs to my heart
Your beauty satisfies my vulnerable heart
I know you won't break down my heart,
But please build your space and echo in my heart
Your smile and your eyes make me proud
Because I know you have the Mona Lisa fraud
Stars, moon and the sun bow down for your beauty
They don't contain such beauty
My sweetheart allow me to name you Beauty
Sure case my sweetheart your beauty matches the nature's beauty
Don't allow me to say dark beauty or any beauty
But allow me to say you have an African beauty
We share cheers for charity
We love each other for surerity
Like I said earlier our love have clarity
As it needs good and excellent maturity
True love for you darling doesn't quantity
But it acquires strong and jubilant quality
God gave me a gift of charity
And I'm obsessed with that charity
I know you are going to change me
You are not going to drain me
But you are going to develop me
You are not going to exhaust me
But you are going to exhault me
You won't disappoint me
But you will appoint me
Seriously you won't downgrade me
But you will upgrade me
Sweetheart, I love you
You are starring me like you are dressing my dirty mind
You are so beautiful and merciful to me
Beautiful like diamonds in the sky
Beautiful like the moon shining on the sky
Beautiful like cirrocumulus clouds on the sky
Only God and ancestors can tell because they live above the sky
In our love, the limit of all these things will be the sky
Sweetheart, I love you my sweetie pie
I know I will be enjoying you more than a king pie
They usually call me the calf of the November cloud
And my feelings are pregnant like the Nimbus clouds
Not everyone like Nimbus clouds
Only farmers are in love with the Nimbus clouds
Others like cumulus and cirrus clouds
I'm sure my feelings have desire like can stratus clouds
Our love is as good as nimbostratus clouds
Let us fly like travellers
I am a singer plus poet travellers
Explorers are also travellers
Our love dont need intruders but we travellers
Travellers The Singer plus poet love you
I will make myself a man because of you
My sweetheart I respect you!
My sweetheart I love you!
Shiba Phumlani Vimbelasizwe (Travellers: The - Poet)
MY SWEETHEART PART 2!
Another lost noon,
engraved as unforgettable
memoirs within my mind,
I’m rethinking of rewriting
and rewinding revoked
reflections of a love rekindled.
My eager heart
is now hanging in the void,
yearning to swirl
through desert dunes
to exhale one more
dandelion dream
in the same air as you,
where quill and paper
were no longer needed.
For times that I
was inking
meaningless phrases,
were buried
deep down under,
as you were softly
scribbling dewy verses
of desires upon
my desolated skin,
rescuing darkness
with starving sincerity,
illuminating and hydrating
my urges with
prolific praising,
moulding every
imperfection of mine
into an abstract art,
naming them
with prismatic gems
on the night of confession,
beneath a sky full of stars
that were burning.
I’m now left with no
adjectives to alliterate,
how this sunflower
soul’s cry bloomed
within your
healing embrace,
where hailing
emotions were eased;
I knew then,
that’s where
I’ve for so long
wanted to belong.
The whirling gusts of
greedy gardenias
may say
roses aren’t fragrant,
but why am I yearning
to be the Juliet rose
in your graceful garden,
where petals glow
like rainbow-hued stardust,
I’m on a virtual venture,
wishing I had
Aladdin’s vintage lamp;
to grant me my
dose of you and I.
If only I could ride
above Arabian valleys;
on an amethyst
magic carpet,
stitched with
crystalline crescent sequins.
If only you could feel,
I’ve been dreaming
of daisy meadows
and dahlia lawns,
where memories
are fatal,
pushing me into a
labyrinth of
mourning magnolias,
searching for
balanced brightness,
although you
still wander
through a
foreign land~
faraway from “us”.
I hear your wings
adorned with
orchestric ornaments
ascending into
the celestial fields,
leaving me in an
astral connection,
with a jar of memories,
where I still keep
falling for you,
time and time again,
as you are my
beginning and ending,
the amorous poet
that wouldn’t
take love for granted~
like the pirates of
this heart-shaped odyssey.
And I shall forever be reliving
the fabulous February,
spent in your golden presence;
although, days together
were somewhat short
and nights were long,
we will rephrase this romance
relentlessly
into an everlasting love story.
In the dark she is waiting, 200 kilos of velvet
separating one world from the other.
It was art to her, she was under no pretence,
she was an instrument, and she made the other instruments merge in a delicious unprecedented harmony.
A poet, a warrior, a lover, a sinner. She has tasted the divine and the melodramatic, to capture moments, photographs, for the use of summoning emotion and reality.
She had been hurt and she had hurt, she had walked towards hell and ran away from heaven. Beginning as a muse and then enslaving the musicians one by one with her whispy and sultry tones.
An electric keyboard breaks the mumbling, vibrato, a pause, a cheer. The drape rises and she peers from the darkness, masked by shadow to the floodlit mass in front.
The drums are brushed gently as the crowd softens to the figure emerging from the dark. Not knowing if they were permitted to break the spell or join it, the crowd pay their respect with silence.
You can almost see the phantoms she has witnessed being beckoned into her. Short linear smoky essences, touching her then being pulled inside. She saunters slowly towards the mic, eyes closed, and with both hands it becomes a sceptre. This will be a heartfelt song again.
She inhales, her belly fills, and she breathes life into the mic. Her tones slice through the thick air, soft yet with such projection and feel. The crowd can not contain themselves and let out a cheer as their eyes fill. She masterfully picks up her bass, as if resurrecting a lost love, and it sings for her.
Her hair is gone now, most of the crowd know why and they want to cry. But she holds them, captivated, and hypnotises a smile into them. They sway to her, some hold their chests as if covering some hole for fear of their hearts falling out.
This will be the last time we will feel her grace. But she will be summoned herself. The band know this. She sits, the treatment has taken it out of her. But her voice never falters. That chair will be kept alongside the drummer that loved her. Her bass will be his kryptonite. But he will keep it close anyway.
The curtain will not fall tonight, it shall remain at half mast. She will bow and we will fall at her mercy one last time. In homage, and respect. She will leave but she will never be forgot. She has trained herself into them, and she will always be singing.
"melliflous birds are still cooing in the forest of my amber dreams " (by poet)
a gift from my father - on the first day of college,
"Golden Treasury"...A book of poetry...
the first poem I read... "She Walks In Beauty".
I carried that book throughout my life, even when I stopped reading poems...
even when poetry wasn't the priority any more,
Instead I looked at recipe-books - how to improve my culinary skills,
and became almost a champion chef in a few months.
Wordsworth and Browning were far away from my thoughts,
Coleridge? Oh No! Porphyria's Lover, and Ancient Mariner...
did not exist in my world of reality!
how many glorious summers went by ~ how many frosty winters ~
Delicious food, excellent company,
chasing after active children, stressing about job-opportunities,
exotic travels, grandiose entertainment ...
had time for every little trivial thing in the world...but no time for
the book my father imagined his daughter would embrace the most!
then one miraculous day...when even my father gradually forgot
the girl who used to blossom in the world of words, and poetry....
I found my precious friend collecting dust,
neglected, discarded, in the corner of a shelf.. couldn't believe it was waiting for me with a beating heart ~
each and every page came alive with a magical touch ~
still my name clearly visible, handwritten with my father's calligraphic dexterity !
almost shaking to spot my long-lost treasure, I cried!
overwhelmed with emotions, tears fell!
as if a candle burnt and melted.
every drop of tears brought back the lavender memories ~
of an exhilarating past... my passions, my yearnings,
tender dreams of lilac hues never attained, the abandoned path I was supposed to tread ...
a path strewn with lyrics and verses, ballads and
sonnets like blazing auburn leaves of autumn ~
now shockingly empty and despairingly barren.
the forgotten aspirations and never-met goals...the tremendous sense of loss,
of crushing heart-break, of torturous frustration,
all flooded in!
many lonely years have gone by!
melliflous birds are still cooing in the forest of my amber dreams
ultimately my first love has returned !
First Place
May 15, 2021
Inspired by “ He gave her a book” contest
Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose