Long Proudly Poems
Long Proudly Poems. Below are the most popular long Proudly by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Proudly poems by poem length and keyword.
I've traveled by plane and ship all about this celestial ball;
Visited many fascinating lands and intriguing ports of call.
I've done it all, seen it all and no matter whence I stray,
There ain't nothin' like livin' in the good ol' US of A!
I've marveled as the risin' sun tinted Mount Fuji in Japan;
Was awed by the rugged Khyber Pass in mystic Pakistan;
I've viewed magnificent sunsets from the shores of Naples Bay,
But these pale compared to the grandeur of the good ol' US of A!
I've seen the hopelessness of people under the heel of oppression;
Their struggles to exist, their lack of freedom of expression;
People ruled by despotic regimes in which they have no say;
Thank God for the freedoms we enjoy in the good ol' US of A!
Many are the patriots who placed national destiny above their own,
To ensure that our precious liberties would ne'er be overthrown.
They sleep awaiting Gabriel's clarion call 'neath hallowed clay;
Thanks to them, Old Glory yet waves o'er the good ol' US of A!
Thanks to our Founding Fathers who with unwavering resolution,
Framed that sacred beacon of hope, our precious Constitution!
Even with its many flaws, without reservation I can proudly say:
"I'm so privileged to be a citizen of the good ol' US of A!
The Universe's Dance
Transitions of the obstruction of life
To the peacefulness of the night
Or a new beginning that a rising sun can bring without a fight
And in the late hour when everything becomes quiet
Nature has a way to transform
Within this turning of time
Every living spec upon this ever changing storm
To which we play this nursery rhyme
Maybe by a birds sweet sound
That brings a sweet remembrance to a season or day
And within a condensed shift in life a smile abounds
Upon a glowing face
The way the wind softly caresses your face
With a cool breeze
To wave off the heat of the day
With a whistling sound moving melodically free
How the drip drop of rain hitting a window pane can calm a tone
With its streams of life being poured from the heavens
To revive a world that struggles for life sitting on a disintegrating throne
And spring a newness into each creation with no discretion
An uncontrollable fire, breathing in the sky
Giving endlessly its lantern to lead us by each step
And warming our bodies when the cold starts to cry
Frightfully showing its characters of depth
Flickering candles floating in the atmosphere
Decorating a painted canvas of deep blue
Wishes casted off into their whispering ear
With silent hopes of dreams coming true
How amazing is a small and fragile seed
That can create a feast for Kings
And feed a family in need
And if planted again grows once more in spring
We so carelessly disregard the treasures that are all around
These viable precious gifts, nature holds out to us so unselfishly
Returning day after day, season after season unannounced
Unlocking valiant colors of wonders on towers of stems rising from the ground... so proudly
All these elements work in unity to perform a theatrical dance upon our stage
They are the silent voices within the earth
Imparting without antcipating anything to gain
Unstained by our constant denial, clasping to last place in our world of worth
Eyes of sadness our universe never reflects
For it hides its emotions within its design
And even the smallest spectator never detects
Its unfailing true love for all man kind
My blue, frayed Cubs cap
Here I hold you in my very own hands
As I look at this old, yet important cap
Many memories go back in many years
The first time I've received this cap
Was when my mother brought you home
As you were a brand-new cap
Bought from the store for five dollars
The happy times with my Cubs cap
From perfect pitches to walk-off hits
As thrown up in the air, this Cubs cap
Your victories will always bring me smiles
The sad times with my Cubs cap
From wild pitches to blown saves
As thrown to the ground, this Cubs cap
Your defeats have brought me tears
The surprising times with my Cubs cap
From listening Ron Santo to the rise of Rizzo
As worn on my head proudly, this Cubs cap
Your history will always give me hope
The many seasons gone through this cap
From playoff heartbreaks to division wins
As this once was a simple, new cap
With each passing year, it becomes old and frayed
In the future, I'll get a new Cubs cap
But this grown fan knows one thing for sure...
As I'll never throw you away, this old cap
My blue, frayed Cubs cap - you're my life's treasure
Perchance One Day?
by Odin Roark
Pick your war
So long ago
Living by reason became paralyzed
Birds soared into reluctant retreat
Knowing this was not the nature they were born into
Souls chafed against destroyed landscapes
Like listless boats against moorings
Their piers desperately inviting closure
By any means
Yet
Habit of no identity
Continues to proliferate dominance over the innocent
Where guns infuse might
To make right the removal of…
Hopefully in the future
A glance from behind shattered windows
Will reveal an undulating live symbol of
Peoples
Countries
Ethnicities
All the glorious colors
A white flag unfurling proudly can display
Not as surrender
But as a pronouncement
“I am a human”
Such might invite a long awaited embrace
Perchance One day?
I so abhor to acquiesce to all this balderdash -
some bloke with his colleen in arm has offered me some cash.
Though dubious that I may be, my dilly dally ways
have left me pinchin' pennies and beggin' for some pay.
So fifty bucks, a rented tux, an easy ride that day,
clandestine gig to get the scoop on what Tallulah says.
I'd heard about that Bankhead broad, a foxy lady sure,
and gender-bender quick to jump in bed with those not pure.
A quintessential interstitial, between the ears she wants,
would go with any randy, rambunctious recalcitrant,
provided they had gizmo, either natural or toy,
and it mattered not whether they were female or a boy.
Though shilly-shally stupid me would often vacillate,
a downtown wing ding Jim jam night sure could tintillate.
Though diddlysquat I knew about the blowhards at this fest,
I grabbed the half o' "C" and proudly donned my hat and vest.
"Who is this Mickey Mouse I see, a hooligan adorned,
whose hither yon and useless ways have often left him scorned!"
And, though I felt like staring there, a mirrored self-lambaste,
I grabbed my cape, usurped my thoughts, with little time to waste.
Old Chico Marx, Doug Fairbanks Jr., Errol Flynn attend.
Shortly warnings cut the air, "On guard my fuzzeled friend!"
Glancing 'round, I'm thankful not to be the rapiered foe.
The Fairbank's stare, the Errol swagger, glissade that they well know.
"Nit pick not", I say, lest I become the prey.
"Affaire de coeur my evil man", I hear Sir Douglas say.
Old codger Chico wryly smiles with guilty funny face,
when then Tallulah enters and her beauty fills the place.
Defend Miss Bankhead, now I must, so I cold-cocked the man,
Then turned around to find Tallulah, face to face we stand.
"Miss Tallulah would ya like ta...well, I guess...get lucky?"
To my surprise, her reply was, "Abso-bloody-lutely"!
Off we went, ethereal bliss, my ego she and me.
Hindsight temps with fifty bucks but I'd do it all for free!
(In a dream!)
We set foot on dry grass at the cockcrow
of a nascent union.
Cheek to cheek as Cupid towers
over the rose inside my heart,
shooting arrows at a dyad draped in fire,
gliding through the tundras of charred weeds,
fin-like petals quake beneath our feet.
The sun unloads its savage heat in torrents,
thermal downpours drench the wedded seam,
blisters left on Sinai soul mate psyches,
rain shadow or bajada by the bye!
Aphrodite’s children from the pampas,
teether on phlogiston’s manic figment,
cauterized, rock-ribbed, raw emotion rivulets ablaze.
Firebrands of first flush in all but name.
Plumes of tropic passion wrap, us madagascan parrots,
trill and troll sidekicks one and all, showing off our feathers
high above the arid air. sweat soaked garments
reek of clammy cuddles, shredded, torn,
strung loosely round the limbs of new born flames.
Cindered patch exposed on lover’s skein without a balm.
Soaptree yucas proudly fence the rapids giddy gurgle.
Frothy sidemen serenade the cherry blossom sweethearts,
lilting love notes found in every strain.
Knotted woodlands understory,
nuptial suite propped up by swollen nodes.
Eternal palms outstretched,
love puppets on a compass point astride the boundless needle.
Viola viscera, songbird incarnate, bow to my enchanted fiddle.
Together forever, alone at last
We run toward fleeting images,
Symbols of the night
With which we know no reason.
Driven clearly by a sense of need,
Our thoughts confused.
Rational mixed with desire.
Night acts in concealed images of shadow
Proudly showing us where to look.
Teaching us what we need to know.
Night, known for its darkened reason,
Exhibits simple themes of perfect release
As it shows us the direction to run.
Ritual instincts strive for recognition,
To join with the familiarity of routine thought.
We run toward mirages in the night.
Cool breeze reminds us that love is not lost
With the setting of the sun
Behind the trees that catch these sparkling words.
The western wind stings our eyes
And brings us fragrance of winter pine.
Safely giving just what we crave.
We learn to know this is true,
A faith we have come to believe
As we run toward mirages in the night.
Time and time again night lets us try
And then helps plan our final escape
As we run toward mirages in the night.
This poem first appeared in Withering Words Magazine, 2026, all rights reserved
I once wrote of lovely mermaid's song,
many years ago, yet still I long
to hear her haunting voice once again,
music of waves never reaching end.
Days I walk a lonely beach once more
searching for her on a distant shore.
Perhaps you're given only one chance
to capture a mermaid in your glance.
She was so lovely, I could but stare
as she braided sunbeams in her hair.
A gentle song she sang to the waves.
Perhaps they too had become her slaves.
Her vassal I could most proudly be
but, alas, she has no need of me.
I feel it useless, yet still I long
for a single note of mermaid's song.
Fables are spun of creatures like she
an enigma dwelling in the sea.
You may think my tale impossible,
truthfully, it's mythological!
March 18, 2023
for "Word Challenge--M Words
by Constance La France
howmanysyllables=9
Although she's always attired in exquisite clothing,
Miranda Vasquez dances, but she's not a socialite.
She spends most of her days embroidering dresses
and decorating flowered fans long into the night.
Her finely sown garments would fetch a nice price,
but money is not what brings Miranda great joy.
No. For she gives them away to low-born ladies
who proudly wear her raiment of felt and corduroy.
Her garments are beautiful works of creative art,
similar to grand paintings from a master's brush.
Bright and bold colored fabrics she loves the most,
green, gold, and crimson hues of cheeks in blush.
Miranda is loved by young and old in her village.
A legendary figure she's bound to become in time.
With her dark lashed eyes and dainty red lips,
she's adored for her heart and tailoring, sublime.
“Her Desher”-(The Red One) something eerie searches,
For life, a loner, three journeys away from reality and beauty.
Looking for optimism among its adversaries.
Why the self-affliction as the majestic dust storm blankets it all,
Hiding,making yourself "bloody like death".
“Ares” why do you conquer all the light and choose the darkness?
It must feel like home, comfortable, yet dejected,
Why fear evolution?, Maybe there is aspiration yet,
Drink the “Kool Aid”, it’s never too late to join us, you’re not dead,
At least not utterly.
Simple wonders of profound heights as the mountain peaks proudly,
Highest that any of its rivals,
No fight there, No competition needed, Battle won before it even starts
You can spread your wings and sore through the deepest valley known to this universe,
“Fire Star” your magnificence knows no constraints there is hope yet.
By SHIVANEE BRIDGEMOHAN
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