Long Rally Poems
Long Rally Poems. Below are the most popular long Rally by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rally poems by poem length and keyword.
That Diaspora represent a piece of my identity,
Strewed my views on the squires of taciturnity,
Inconspicuous lines and depictions,
And then there's the pencil wizard,
Follow my body's rhythms, that I used to bury,
A meandering deer in the tangle of conscience,
I interred it in the depths of my gentle soul,
He was doused in letter ink,
I interfered with him in some proper link,
The beater is nipped by a beehive,
Following the poke scores another shove,
Silence and no ardour, to mitigate brain's fury,
An ink would be dainty, to soothe mind's rage,
The gap was scared, so he squeezed a sunrise,
Swollen and grown, with that slammer,
Reluctantly urge her to endow what she's realized,
I swore an oath of ultimate devotion.
Her moral sins were washed by the Lord.
You didn't hook sight of her fastening orbs.
Twilight's deeper level starts eagerly with a rally.
Written: February 20, 2022
my wonders wonder how would it be
if God had made me an insect a flea
how short of life would life be
and all of God's creatures
i'd fear and flee
so small and fragile
not easy to see
crushed by everything but me
my wonders wonder how would it be
if God made me into a bee
i'd rally with my brother bee's
gather pollen from plants and trees
build a fortress for a queen
work like the devil to keep it clean
if any should bother our domain
where it is
i'll give them my stinger
and no longer live
such is the life for us and he
whom god decides
to make a bee
my wonders wonder how would it be
if God decided an eagle i'd be
noble, honored, swift and sleek
flying in the air for food i seek
secretly fishing with my eye
rarely is seen my deadly dive
I AM the symble for liberty and pride
i'll mate only once and then i'll die
my wonders wonder how would it be
if God had made me into a tree
standing tall above it all
save the mountians standing tall
in it's season making leaves
protecting both birds ans bee's
reaching high into the sky
growing wider than all living creatures
bearing fruit to feed the nations
eating the sun's rays before the hit they ground
my shade a cool shelter for everything around
my wonders wonder how it would be
if God decided a peacock i'll be
i'd strut and wear my tail so proud
my feathers match with any croud
my eye's and beak they match so well
the prettiest of birds
it is known so well
my feathers are emaculate
and my shape is so swell
i take great pleasure
in showing off my tail
my wonders wonder why it came to be
God made me a human being
so different and diverse are each of us
some of us praise , some of us curse
yet we struggle to believe in God above
one they think is evil
and the other made of love
to us he gave intelect
with a capasicity to feel
complicated emotions that shatter and kill
but with this comes motivation
to create and build
an internal competition
to be better and better still
some men beg some men borrow
and some men commit fraud
and most of them presumably
forgot about their god
but in this world of wonder
where wonders never cease
there is a visible God
watching man and beast
Let me tell you a story……..
Nothing new under the sun really.
Happened many times.
Autumn flourished and Christmas was near.
Hark, the bells tolled.
The womanizer discovered love.
Too late.
For now she died much too quick.
Friends rally round.
Especially Lisa, his illegitimate daughter.
All in vain. For now his love is dead.
A year passed.
He stood near a window
as fluffy snow fell gently.
He looked at that set of seashells,
An ivory box and inside his old watch
which she gave him as mementos.
Outside raucous seagulls flew,
a harbinger of further devastating storms.
Yet the worst tempest was in his heart.
Tears fell profusely.
But time flies.
Rapturous Spring is in full swing.
Tranquillity reigns in his heart.
All the family drift
On the boat on the languid lake.
Lisa happy to be with her father,
And his new wife.
He holds his own child with care
Will it be the end of his womanizing?
A white swan glides near.
Euphoric tranquillity reigns.
16 April 2022
Form N - Narrative - New Poems Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Theme: Life
There is a bomb in the bird cage,
Yet the wimpy caged bird sings.
They caught a Bird of the summer,
But it flee when the winter begun.
Our travels through alien lands
Warmed our cold feeble hearts.
Sojourners from a dark brutal past
Marching into an evolving limelight.
We journey through the broken doors,
And from the rusting corners of the cage.
Yet they view us with scornful eyes
Envying the little we have inside.
We pace up in a coalescing faith
Pinning pieces of ideas together
Back to our roots where we belong,
They welcome us with homely hands.
I know why the caged bird sings
There’s fleeting hope entwined within
It inspires the power of imagination
Which treated iron bars can’t hold down
But we lost ourselves in captivity
Leaving behind our golden thrones
Adapting to famed ideologies unknown
Which held us back from our dreams.
Now is the start of new awakening
Moving ahead from our sordid past
We rally in unity and in togetherness.
To a God blessed radiant future
Bob Robinson had been born in the ghetto,
and his childhood was not a nice thing,
single mother, just a teenager herself,
in a neighborhood known for gang-banging.
But Bob was a truly tenacious soul,
he got his first job and didn’t look back,
determined he’d never let himself become
a welfare case stuck addicted to crack.
Though he never had culinary schooling,
he learned much at the restaurants he worked,
until, at thirty, he opened his own,
his own place, his own menu, his own turf.
He had a great spot right by the highway
near a suburb that housed much big tech,
he just called it ‘Bob’s,’ and soon was known
for serving up the town’s finest Tex-mex.
Bob usually liked to be the bartender,
he met all sorts of near people that way,
life went smoothly, at least it did at first,
until his nephew was sent out to stay.
Jamal was the first of the family
to receive an offer to go to school,
a local four-year gave a scholarship,
since Jamal was anything but a fool.
Now Jamal did not want to wait tables,
but Bob fed him, since he was family,
and not long after he started classes
he began to behave aggressively.
Began to say folks were out to get him,
that the ‘system’ was rigged to his loss,
then pale-skin folks were all ‘keeping him down,’
would never let folk like him be the boss.
Now all this seemed quite bizarre to Bob,
he himself had seventeen employees,
but Jamal kept saying he was ‘oppressed,’
that he would fight as a minority.
For the first year Jamal was quite active,
never missed a rally of protest march,
but then when he got himself arrested
Bob worried the his path soon would get dark.
When he got off with community service
it seemed just to invigorate Jamal’s rage,
he started calling for ‘reparations’
for the actions of a dead and gone age.
He started spewing out Socialist tripe,
said private property only oppressed,
that all who took part in it were ‘slave-drivers,’
it all left Bob feeling more and more vexed.
Then when Jamal jabbed a finger at him,
and cussed out his fiancé for being pale,
Bob threatened to cut him off for his crap,
but his threats seemed to be of no avail...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
A part of my family
was lost to horror
How ironic for Hollywood
to cross that border
All in the family
We were in that day
Young and understanding
In our own perfect way
Married to Sally
With Maga in laws
Looking back we rally
Giving life that pause
At first there was just death
Old age I supposed
The next day came the truth
The shocking enclosed
Slowly crept feelings
Of the family that left
Instead being sent forcefully
Into that thing called death
I never met him
or called him a friend
But I did have a Brother
A family within
So this is shattered
the meaning of the word
It matches expectations
In our sorrowful world
When things don't go as planned and life seems unfair,
'Tis easy for others to rally about cheering, "Hang in there!"
As you struggle to regain your feet at any reasonable cost,
You'd rather not hear, "Cheer up my boy! All hope is lost!"
When far from safe haven 'midst the billowing waves,
And desperate mariners pray for salvation from watery graves,
Drowning men are apt to scoff at the captain's strange accost,
Who bravely proclaims, "Cheer up me laddies! All hope is lost!"
The crew have completed their raid and are homeward-bound,
Cruising at forty-thousand feet, shells exploding all around!
Three engines sputter and die, excess equipment is tossed.
The pilot calmly says, "Cheer up men! All hope is lost!"
The unsinkable Titanic raced across the bounding main,
Meeting an immoveable iceberg, which was to be her bane!
'Tis hoped that Captain Smith's final words were other than,
"Cheer up! All hope is lost!," as their eternal bourne began!
This little verse was written with strictly tongue in cheek!
There are better ways to express hope when things look so bleak.
Stand up and boldly state when others waver and blindly grope:
"Cheer up, my good men! Cheer up! We'll never lose our hope!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Hello, my name is Service
I am happy to help you today.
Please don’t take advantage of me because,
I am not inferior to you.
Hello, my name is Joy.
Don’t confuse me with Happy.
My strength is inner content
No matter what my emotions show.
Hello, my name is Inner Peace,
And I am what you want to find.
I am not surface deep or even shallow.
My veins feed the heart and soul.
Hello, my name is Every Lie You Were Ever Told
And yes, I have many faces,
Many fronts for you to see.
I have a great costume called Truth,
And another costume called Acceptance.
When I show up my favorite first front is Popularity
But call me out and I will name you a Conspiracy Theorist.
I will rally against you
And guilt is my favorite card to play.
Hello, my name is Wisdom
I am your helper and your friend,
But I only come when you let me.
I will not be where I am not wanted.
I will not come where I am not called.
My strength is in experience
That makes me different from the rest.
If you choose to use me
That is great by me
I will use the past to guide you through the present
And call out the lies you were told
Stick with me beside you
Because I will guide you.
A daytime in Madrid
Gray sky overhead
The mist forms rows
Eyeing, hesitating
As spectators in a field
Hovering for kickoff
Masses of zealots
Shining bands of fans
In the style of a royal army
The sound of shoes trampling
Moving to a specific ground
Hovering for kickoff
The reals of Madrid are tough
They defy tooth and claw
The adrenaline level is rising
Blood of steel ran in their veins
Artistic knives are at the ready
They hurt the stadium
The reds of England look anxious.
To do this, a hero must be called.
A savior in times of peril.
A leader to rally the troops.
A Liverpool that flips the tides.
Halftime is near
Relief for the Spanish is near
But there is a last terror spell
One final shot towards glory
A clip-on their lips
A blow on the Reals' souls
The fate of our heroes is unsure.
What lies next for the Reds?
But one thing is certain.
They seek victory.
Will they master the chaos of war?
Written: June 2, 2022
A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
How easily forgotten those souls
of wars and battles of ten, twenty, sixty years ago,
when lives were given freely in belief and hope
for the dreams of freedom and democracy we spoke.
One more hero falls
added to the list, written on the honor walls
of who and what America still stands for
in promise and endeavor to be greater to our inner core.
The voices now seem to only whisper on the lips
as changes to our ever sought aspirations slip
into a dissention of heart and soul and ideals
that once defined who we were forged in steel.
It is an ever struggle to be vigilant in this sea
of the process to learning how we came to be
the country in which we were free to speak
and rally for the average man's mystique.
But like every nation reigns bestowed
times change, dreams and efforts erode
to steal away the progress made in pain
and erase the names of heroes slain.
Rally round the men and women who do not fold
embrace the dream and promises of old
that all be living open and free in the land
with opportune liberty and democracy at hand.