Long Poets Poems
Long Poets Poems. Below are the most popular long Poets by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Poets poems by poem length and keyword.
A Letter To Kahlil Gibran
To have read your poetry book The Prophet
And found a road map to life in your words
Understood from knowledge, I will profit
Your poems came from a source never heard
How deep the well from which you drew wisdom
And how high the sky where your truth has flown
Man's blind vision, you never walked away from
Your spirit pure, spoke from a place unknown
To be a teacher, yet to never preach
To speak of life's yearning for tomorrow
And yearn for our humanity from each
Question if we'll ever unmask sorrow
To thank you for the many truths I found
To break free, when understanding is bound
contest Letters to Poets
5/19/14
Ghost Rainbow
A woman rang me, she was panegyric about my poems
I smiled without mirth because I knew there would be
a question of financing, the publishing of a book I have
had high hopes for, but had been turned down too often
The woman was adamant about the manuscript
Intense Recall was art, she insisted, a mastery of art.
For one who has spent twenty years trying to become
A writer and poet can so easily fall for flattery
The woman, on the phone, said she loved me, that alone
rang warning bells, and I thought of the Fascist poet, who
lived in Italy all his life, a poet who expects to be paid
is not a real poet; I assume he, like so many other poets
had private means
The price for making me into a famous poet was not
excessive, quite reasonable, yet too much, so I have
to forgo being famous; that is ok, no one will sit down
and write lies about me
KOMOREBI
The Land Where Poems Are Made
Chorus chords of
Sounds mutter, iambically
Especially forming tongues throughout the ages
To give birth to rhyme in metered rages
Ancient rants, bellow from the depths
Of hollowed souls, needing to be refueled
As a lamp that all too quickly burned its wick.
So, yes, I toss and turn with loads, puns unsought
And words, dance wildly in my sleepless mind.
Yet, drifting bass-backwards through the woods,
and weeds of thought.
Ah yes, I am chasing dreams and nightmares too.
Hoping doors will open in the whimsical worlds in time.
That I may be the wise woman that writes the poem;
Whose poetic flute plays the tunes that pied the poets’ minds
Mimes leading them to that open space-
Where the light shines through the cove of trees;
Where ditties and missives, are the leaves that glisten.
Where rhymes, and poems nod and dance in the breeze,
And hang like wisdom’s fruit off grand poetic trees.
We pluck, we eat, we deliver that which we seek to write.
Remembering KOMOREBI
… We then finally, peacefully, now spirit-filled, we sleep.!
“birds care not for whom they sing” - Silent One
Many writes come and go,
could there be One you know?
There are writers that write words,
there is One who writes with feelings and herbs.
Priceless masterpieces better than a royal flush,
your poems are painted with a very colorful brush.
Like “birds care not for whom they sing,”
a writer writing from their soul becomes a king.
When you hear a bird sing,
you will remember that heavenly sound all spring.
When you read a poem from Silent One,
you will remember that poem for the long run.
"Happy Birthday~Silent One"
I
I AM
I
Come
I come, I came;
I AM
I AM
From the one rib,
From
ADAM
I, I AM, I AM
Not part but whole;
I AM WOMAN,
Yes, I've come from MAN;
and yes I AM;
His chosen spouse;
From God;
Though I find it quite. . .
Odd,
That the heavenly Father
Would even bother. . .
To make ME WOMAN
I, I AM taken from mere MAN;
I come, I came in Jesus Name I am
Woman
My name's EVE;
One of God's children;
Whose descendants,
yes one of them is..
I AM ONE of them,
EVE ROPER
My name is Eve;
One of God's children
Whose descendants
yes I am one of them
taken from ADAM'S rib
Not a half-man but a whole WOMAN;
Put upon this world to help, love and nurture;
And when you see me again;
I'll be in heaven;
with the first ADAM and EVE
AMEN
UNSUPPORTED CODE
(From the forth coming God's Children New Poets/Poems and New Friends)2017(c)
Inspired by Psalms 23:1-6 (enjoy, poets!!) :
v. 1-3
I’m a lost sheep, hoping for a godly sleep
LONGING for a delightful sleep
In search of my beloved shepherd…
I was willing to pray for some rewards to reap
To pray for a heavenly dream…
Not a frightening nightmare…or I’ll scream!
Now, I’m satisfied
With godly sleep
I lie my head down
In green pastures
That’s where I seek
God’s comfort…
The paths of righteousness
Renews my faithfulness
v. 4-6
I’m passing through the shadow of death…
In yield of Your staff
The Lord whispers in my ear gently:
“Fear no evil, for I’m with you!”
To pick me up from the ground…
And heal me…I’m trying my best
Let me have a moment’s rest
In search of Your Promise Land…Your nest
Fill my cup with Your mercy
And give me a piece of your serenity…
A taste of sincerity...a slice of sensibility...
A flavor of integrity...
I beg You to take care of me…
And hand me a portion of eternal glee
You are my kindhearted, generous shepherd
My comforter…my reliever
My God…I’m most certainly YOUR believer
You aren’t a deceiver…
I was once a downright nonbeliever
You are MY awesome God
I’m strengthened and comforted by Your rod!
I’m walking Your narrow path of mercy and goodness…
I’m dwelling in God’s house~
I was once a lost sheep
Mourning night after night…
I used to forlorn day after day
I’m alarmed and I’m yearning for Your light
Your might…Your delight
To get through my plight…to fight the good fight
I used to weep bitterly in dismay
I was once a lost sheep
But, now I’m enjoying my godly sleep
I’m skipping to and fro
In God’s green pastures…I lie…
I sing …I grow…I wander off…I fly…
I float…in God’s still waters –
His PEACE will never die!
He lifts me up on cloud nine
I’m a lost sheep in godly sleep
He nurtures me like His child – I’m feelin’ fine
I’m a joyful sheep in godly sleep
Encased in an isolated castle of an old fool’s paradise,
A decaying dagger rests upon a distressed oak table.
Frayed book pages scatter across termite-riddled floors.
The calligraphy carries echoes of triumphant battles,
Vividly etched in ink.
A revered legacy is forgotten in decades of decay,
Its inked glory fading into disarray.
Reminiscing of bygone days when youth was a sturdy partner at my behest,
Now weathered crimson dahlias adorn the windowsills
Of a desolate dynasty,
As the last petal falls.
Echoes of faded footsteps can be heard within the empty halls of waste.
What remains is a golden crown with sanguine marquise
Resting heavily upon an exile’s head.
How do I conquer the bloodstained fear trickling within the fractals,
Reflecting off the scorching sun that swallows flames,
Swirling around the ashen pyre
Of the poetic corpses I’ve slain for validation?
An inquisition paints a vicious vermilion
Within the sobbing stained glass.
The once-perfect porcelain flesh of our legacy is flayed,
Surrounded by the whispers of forgotten souls.
Cobwebs drape over shattered dreams,
As beams of light punctuate looming shadows.
Concealed beneath cold stone lies the family crypt,
Patiently awaiting its reluctant visitor,
Beckoning the exalt through clandestine corridors.
Within the hushed chamber of undying slumber,
He recalls the tragic tale.
Before him stand his beloved wife and children,
Forever ensnared in the clutches of eternal sleep.
Echoes of the past replay like eerie shadows,
Retelling the grim chronicle of their demise.
His envious, wrathful younger brother succumbed
To the greed of his own ambition.
In the darkness hour of that dreadful night, the dagger-wielding usurper
Plunged their existence into oblivion,
Casting spirits of suppressed speeches to weep
Within wailing walls.
Now I am the cerulean dusk of the gloaming,
A burnt-out waxen ivory,
The candle before their tombstone.
A fellow poet would understand
Mistakes I've made that weren't planned
A reader of words could love me still
Even if I couldn't fit the bill
You see my language and comprehend
The demons I've fought and emotions I blend
Stirring together with a dash of wit
Kneading neatly for a perfect fit
Secret ingredients tossed in the batter
Even though they may not flatter
A dish of me, prepared for you
An honest and blunt pot of stew
Those around me can't see this pot
Their noses high and opinions taut
It matters not, the tears I shed
I still remain, to them, misread
Cheers to my fellow artists, dissecting my rhymes
Wearing my shoes through trying times
My heart wide open, surrendered pride
To you, my friends, I openly confide
A new dawn it was for me,
but I knew not what awaits my soul.
I had dreams of many happy events,
of a bountiful year without pain.
Then,
in a twinkle of an eye,
my life almost flew away,
for I ran to the highway of death,
but my life was not received,
my precious life was given back to me.
And now,
with that precious gift in my hand,
I stepped out with a strong resolve,
to live my life with care and love,
for I know not when the end shall come,
while I journey on to forever land.
Wow,
as I journeyed through half of the year,
a new stage of my life began,
I started my first and major addiction,
to a soup full of delicacy.
My life has never been so beautiful,
with many great poets,
who give me tasty soup to drink from.
Hey,
this soup is sweet and cool,
and open to all who need a scoop,
aged, adults and teenagers alike.
Here,race, age and creed have no restraint.
I have had a wonderful year so far,
with many soupers always on my mind.
Richard Lamoureux-figured out
Richard Lamoureux,
even his name speaks of love.
The LOST AND FOUND kind of love
The kind of love that can contemplate
THE EDITING OF ME.
Richard is a true realist, never MINCING WORDS,
he says it like it is, but with a kind manner.
He is LISTENING FOR A CHANGE, because that
is what BEING HUMAN is all about,
and that's what he does best.
HIS HUNGER is for truth and justice,
with a little SWEET SCOUNDREL LIES,
thrown in the mix.
WHAT YOU DON'T SEE in his words,
are THE LOVELY BONES, RUNNING AT THE SPEED OF LIFE!
Richard wants to CHANGE THE WORLD, and the key he has,
IMBEDDED IN PAGES, so it's a little hard to find.
Richard always asks WHERE DO POETS GO?
I don't know where he is now,
but I DO know he was, on the SKYTRAIN,
BUT HE'S NOT SHOPPING.
I know, because he came home with a CUP OF EMPTY,
maybe that's how he knows that BIG GIRLS DO CRY!
Richard and I share similar backgrounds,
and we yearn for the same things,
a fathers love for example.
We, KEEP TRYING TO REACH
BEYOND WHAT WE HAVE REACHED,
TRYING TO GRASP THE MAGNIFICENT.
If we keep trying, Richard, maybe there will be
LIGHT SUSPENDED, ABOVE FOREVER, for us.
October 16,2016
Got you figured out contest