Long Projectiles Poems
Long Projectiles Poems. Below are the most popular long Projectiles by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Projectiles poems by poem length and keyword.
*Image of Rumi Quotes by Twitter.
Rumi Nuff for Us
Drizzling passes by filters a rainbow,
its aqua burst nigh as simple dews grow,
filters a rainbow, drizzling passes by
as simple dews grow, its aqua burst nigh.
Tattles chartreuse fronds of its bless descent,
splash in hidden ponds faces smile advent,
of its bless descent, tattles chartreuse fronds,
faces smile advent, splash in hidden ponds.
Petals drift downward like musical notes
suite heard through the fjord, its harmonic floats,
like musical notes, petals drift downward
its harmonic floats, suite heard through the fjord.
Birdsong through the vale, up along the lea,
magic wove a tale, sung aloud for me,
up along the lea, birdsong through the vale,
sung aloud for me, magic wove a tale.
Deep lush spectacles a trade sparks exact,
dipping projectiles indulgent contact,
a trade sparks exact deep lush spectacles,
indulgent contact, dipping projectiles.
Nature dwells in us for a better life,
champ's mindset adjust to keep your dream rife,
for a better life, nature dwells in us
to keep your dream rife champ's mindset adjust.
Sprinkled beauty's charm challenges as subtle,
they are arm in arm the perfect couple,
challenges as subtle, sprinkled beauty's charm
the perfect couple, they are arm in arm.
2022 July 30
*1st Place*
Rhyme Rumi
~~Sotto Poet: Judged 2022 August 12
*Rhyme Reversal
RZ aabb, ccdd, eeff, ... SC 10 syllables per 28 lines
++SC preferred o'er HMS as the word "lea" is counted as two syllables
``PS Grammar & SC - Total Word Count = 198 *Title excluded
Warriors become philosophical black
Assassins walk on water in fabric magic
Boots move quicker than the wind
Clearly invisible through vampire mirrors
Void of color, empty of human images
The night draws shapes on Ninja Lake
Reflects back vivid in shards of ice
Protecting natures shadowy body
Secrets blend in with Winter
Light objects gentle to the touch
Become solid as spy machines
Scramble into action
Move swiftly to the shore for battle
To attack the Samurai shielded in sleep
Dressed in snow, in honor, in mounds of white
Heavy swords rest, glistening by their side
Multicolored by moonlight, stranded in the sky
Lightning rods wait to strike at midnight
Only snores fill the silence between thin distances
A slice of life ready to be snuffed out at any time
Dragon stars spin like tiny metallic helicopter discs
Missed by inches through the bamboo covered mile
Some projectiles follow meadow birds in error
Exchange addresses that never return to them
Turn skyward with the wind in twisting flight
On the wing to chase birds only trying to escape
Before the lake sinks to new levels of depravity
Ninja and Samurai make mistakes then smile
Slice right through their most noble intentions
To serve God and country to the biter end
As blades pass right through invisible men
Angel
Gangsters angling for a deal on wet concrete by the station
Feared for life, but more for death, on the street
Souls purchased with wrong turns
Their associate last week lost his way in the park
An angel pulled up, found him, fed him a line, then a shot
Just for a second his eminence smiled, then died
A red car drove off with the pretty little assassin inside
After taking a kingpin out, removing the competition in a flash
Taking comfort in what a young girl can do when put to task
Now the concrete walk waits for its prey
Directed by others in a sequence of events about to play out
Events initiating a consequence of revenge unfolds
To exact equal pain in retribution for the loss of their boss
The gang had followed him for years and continues to do so
Into an early grave, by seeking out the girl unwisely
From the shadow, an angel came again. This time for them
With a killer’s lust for blood and blessings from above
Stray projectiles fly from all sides, initiated by the parties involved
The spree begins to shape the end of days, taken in an angry rage
Trajectory of chaotic gun fire directed at the gang
Took participants engaged down, one by one, until there were none
These stoic men feel mortality and reality effects
Only at the end of a gun at the point of death as wasted flesh
Saying her name with their expiring breath….. Angel
A Year Ago
the moats of your castles
were those big round eyes
brownies shot projectiles
piercing my blue skies
you dug trenches with blinks
thwarting my yearns and choices
countering lashes that sink
your eyes hugging other voices
try recall those starry nights
I was in left field
with my demons at fight
up against your shield
throw me no bat and ball
given no chance to come to the plate
it was easy to see me take a fall
pocket dreams of you is all I fate
and those brownies only read the cover
it hurts. not the pages of me to discover
connie pachecho
8/1/17
Gloom blooms as more bombs boom;
Even saints are tainted by crimson stains.
Fears tear through cradle-cries,
And withered blood floods the clustered gutters.
A prowl of projectiles surrounds their bounds;
Wounds whine on a round ground.
Pleas fail to heal the skin’s impetigo—
As silence stains the lens.
Then violence dons another garment,
While silence lies dormant;
Cries from festered wounds pry the dry, wry air,
As echoes crawl along.
All goes to soothe egos,
They boast with coats of loathes in floated boats,
In self-conceit concerts,
They celebrate nothing, noting no woe.
Wicked wicks don’t wink weak,
They sow discord and spit splintered discourse,
They supplant hate as baits,
And their words plunge the world to more dangers.
Peace peeks through a bombed hole at round tables,
Yet war speaks through their mouths;
Those who would quell the spell still sow their guile,
While skies scold, souls lie cold.
Six legs, two arms and often a tail
It greets its own kind with an expectant wail
They may well converse and they may form a pack
But what do they keep in that very small sack
There’s others that come bearing more heads and limbs
And some that appear when the light of day dims
Its plans for a peaceful encounter can fail
Often the culprit has foreshortened tail
Quite unlike what might occur on the X-files
It doesn't spit fire but does hurl projectiles
It then splits in two, it knows where each one lands
And rushes them back to its other halve’s hands
It’s salvo continues ’til someone cries ‘ouch!’
One half then watches the other half crouch
It scans its surroundings to feed the small sack
Wherever it’s from it’s then time to go back
But first it must visit the red hi-vis bin
The small sack, now loaded, deposited in
Its travels may take it up hill or down dale
Six legs, two arms and often a tail
*
If you don’t get this, your minds full of fog
Or your brain just went south on a train
It’s only the tale of one man and his dog
So why don’t you read it again?
The wild clouds
Are traveling
In the firmament.
The missiles and projectiles
Are bursting the profile
Of many innocent people.
The children
Are crying on the benches,
And their moms
Are suffering miserably.
Big and expensive guns
Are devouring mountains,
Valleys and cities.
Where is the love,
Amidst all these killings,
In full fury,
Where day
Becomes night?
In the whirlwind of miseries,
Absent are the roses,
Where nature is gloomy.
Man kills himself, why?
For nothing; for cow dung.
Humanity is wearing a cross
Which is very heavy. No more bread,
They shot the workers and the bakers.
We are all in the face of danger.
The wise clouds
Have seen the gruesome images;
Both countries are demolished
By ignorance and demagoguery.
Give a chance to diplomacy;
Give a blob of common sense to peace,
In order to nourish the giant tree of respect.
War will always be a senseless folly.
Copyright © November 2012, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry collections.
There was no accident.
It is an entire generation your failures have delivered to the flames.
Beneath your crumpled suits, betrayals show their seams.
You deconstructed without rebuilding,
demolished all bearings, weakened respect, dissolved hierarchy —
and now you mourn the ruins you yourselves designed.
You fantasize France as a stage for amusement,
halfway between historical folklore and reality TV.
But there are no bulls here, no masquerade —
the only deception is yours.
The true puppets sit in your palaces,
and the only clogs are your boots pressing on the necks of the defiant.
You call this chaos?
It is the purest expression of your failure,
the mirror of a State you cracked with your own indifference.
The weak did not merely surrender:
they consented, assisted, took part.
And now you expect the people to keep paying
for your faults piled high like falsified communiqués.
Look at yourselves.
Nourished by the privileges of the Republic,
incapable of shame, incapable of honor,
you defile the memory of the dead
while claiming to inherit a past you relentlessly betray.
You are not authority — you are its parody.
Society did not birth savages.
It watched children grow in forsaken outskirts
as you averted your eyes,
and your repeated abdications sculpted the edges of chaos.
Your cowardice is the true delinquent,
your decisions, the crime’s tools,
your speeches, projectiles; your silences, detonators.
Deep purple passion, green garden glory, with a scent remarkably rich,
Like the haunting, full October moon, that hardly ever fails to bewitch!
Lilac lovely, violet and voluptuous, in gilt daytime, and evening's ease,
When soon cosmic skies are colored, like rubies, cardinals and cherries!
Admired like amethysts, or glistening grapes, or plump, plentiful plums,
Or like beauty marching down every lane, to a beating of festal drums!
Lilac like lavender, spreading redolent secrets, over scenic, sunlit miles,
Until sangria nights of fuchsia fervor, and fiery, shooting star projectiles.
Written on 6/1/2022
For: Purple Flowers Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Nayda Ivette Negron Flores
I see how I look inside out,
not how I look outside in.
My Amtrak races between mountains
and rivers, my traces, my inner spaces,
my dawnings, my inner longings.
I see how I look inside out,
not how I look outside in.
I leaf through fading pages
of crumbling books bound
with passion strings,
broken by wounded fissures
of regret.
I see how I look inside out,
not how I look outside in.
Others declare me a man or fool,
perhaps the father they never knew,
perhaps the boss who fired them,
or just the impostor they always hated.
I see how I look inside out,
not how I look outside in.
I slowly abandon their puzzling
projectiles, their momentary mocks.
Such a child am I, even the petals
of new love go unseen.
I see how I look inside out,
not how I look outside in.
I take the long way alone,
my feet heavy with clay,
I wander the deep gloam,
my mortal vessel, my only home.
There is luminous grass beyond.
There I will rest my head in
the resplendence and comprehend
that inside and outside
are just a revolving door.