Long Rallying Poems
Long Rallying Poems. Below are the most popular long Rallying by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rallying poems by poem length and keyword.
What I the things
I choose to write about
Come through my pen unto me
Out of seemingly nowhere apparently
So even I myself seldom do not know
The places where my imagination goes
In order to fetch and find them from
Is often darker than the deepest
Color scarlet congealed and cellular
Blood vein viscus red ink
That flows throughout and from my sanctity
Mind body soul heart head to toe
Best described as like a donation or transfusion
Alluding to reading again to this conclusion
Is the ink my thoughts and words
Merely simply just an illusion a trick
I play unto myself but prefer to share with an audience
For the sole benefit of placating me
Rather than supposed to being
Of hopefully some use and help
To someone else suffering in need out there
Who unfortunately feels can relate and sees the world
As I do both them as well
Poetry is an art form of blood letting
But although words are a rallying cry
A way or means to an end
Words not backed up with meaningful actions
Then becomes inconsequential and superfluous
Both worthless and demeaning no descript
And a sure fire sign that the undersigned author
Writes for no other reason than
To do so for the sole benefit of pleasing themselves
And my heart bleeds for them also as well
As they are the unfortunate kind and likes of people
Who will gladly and willing steal others
Pennies out cast into a wishing well
And yet still somehow be able to
Sleep soundly well at night
A yellow glow
Is packing ready to go
Leaving the work space
Building its case
Finished the committed job
Gloomy clouds never had a chance to rob
Warming the world
As the globe twirls
Travelling to another destination
Ready to glare a post card presentation
Filled with enthusiasm not able to be patient
Seconds click away
Minutes collect them then say
“Fourteen Forty makes one day”
Still high in the sky
Lighting a path where one should try
To comprehend
Life’s concept called ‘when’
Soon everything will be dark
Night time checking in putting itself in park
Just like the sun
Slowly the lunar landscape will move until duties are done
Fulfilling the sleeping hours
Until daylight returns to blazing power
Morning comes alive
Bringing new hope as a rallying cry
Top of the morning all
With a wakeup call
A welcome smile
Greeting the rank and file
Going to defend
What societal contributions they need to pen
While a retiring moon hears the hen
Finishing the time card and pushing send
Freedom isn't Free
It comes with the price of Responsibility.
American citizens are born with the inalienable right
To peaceably assemble, to petition
Their grievances, their aversions, their plights.
Freedom isn't Free
It comes with the price of Responsibility.
Marching and rioting; with causes so deep;
Hubris and anger taking the charge, engaging
In destruction, threatening the welfare of the public at large.
Freedom isn't Free
It comes with the price of Responsibility.
Women's rights, undocumented immigrants,
The racial divide and global affairs their major concerns;
Heightened by the outcome of this unprecedented election,
Propelling feckless tactics and undue aggression.
Freedom isn't Free
It comes with the price of Responsibility.
Celebrities jumping on board; rallying with acrid voices,repudiating calm
resolution for revolt and revolution.
What have they accomplished, what have they done; tarnished the
credibility of voices that should peacefully be sung.
Freedom isn't Free
It comes with the price of Responsibility.
February 20, 2017
Our convergent joint
The rallying point
Mecca to the Pastors and Sisters
Jerusalem to the “Alhajas and Alfas”
Refuge to the weak
Shield to the strong
Nowhere on campus like our building
Life made more lively
Added life to the lifeless
Ever enliven to light up a dead soul
Restore spirit to the soulless body
Nowhere on campus like our
World Trade Centre
Goods and services are synchronized
Prizes are greatly subsidized
To augment sense of belonging to our belongings
No wonder, young and old ones throng in and out
For more copies of pieces of paper
Scrupulously they stay glued to
Modern screen for good job
Ours is the biggest edifice in Nigeria
Ours is the best in Africa
Ours is amongst the best in the world
Swimming pool completes the unparallel
Beautiful scenery that I behold every
Midnight that I lay my head on the
Cushion to cushion the tedious effect
Incurred in my sojourn on campus
Twenty four hours was for
Wisdom chicken and chips
A delicacy prepares with wisdom
Which often times leaves Couples off wisdom
As they whisper pouring out farrago of lies
Unto each others hearing
In a latter day hobo’s manner
Like a Romeo in the world of a Juliet
Savoring the dishes
Drinking all drinkable and all gulp-able
Browsing and dancing to the
Rhythm of Yahoo and “Aluta” gyration
Ours was unarguably the best
Our building clad a chamber
Where the Honourables meet
Where ideas and views are chewed
Where political and cerebral jaw jaw are cross fertilized
Where rhetoric and oratory seed are swallowed
Where we read and blessed with “8 points”
Where we digest skills to become splendid
Managers of human and material resources
Our library is incomparable in quantity and quality of materials
All these before they came
They came, they vandalized
They came, they destroyed
They came, they extorted
They came, they collected and replaced for man
Receipt of hopelessness and anguish
They came . . . killed the spirit
They came . . . gauged the soul
They came . . . stole the body
But . . .
Like the Son of Man
The spirit will rise again
Like an “Ayekoto” bird
The gauged soul will escape and fly away
Like the Biblical Zion
The stolen body will be returned
And restored for better glory.
Alayande Stephen Tolulope
August 12th 2005
4.00am
Form:
Only a hero volunteers for war,
willing to battle and die for others.
And do things they'd typically abhor,
rallying into a band of brothers
defending their homes, sisters, and mothers.
While war levies its toll in flesh and bone
insidious night-terrors haunt the mind.
And yet, in past wars, their cause was unknown,
but atrocities and guilt once combined,
PTSD symptoms aren’t far behind.
I was born while dad fought in Korea,
he had survived two wars before we met.
But who he was, I had no idea.
I knew naught of war; I was three, and yet
mom said my father was this army vet.
I could feel his anger, but not his pain,
though I bore its fury with every beer.
And cringed inside when he acted insane,
building up my resentment tear by tear
for he never offered love, only fear.
Frustrated, he was prone to violence,
but in his last years, I noticed a change.
He had stopped yelling, preferring silence,
and uncharacteristically strange
bouts of kindness, and tears, would interchange.
(English Quintain)
Nov. 11, 2018
Written: September 15, 2023
______________________________________________________________
In the halter of destiny, we are all bound.
A monody of souls dissemble and found
With every lynch of trice vicious hand,
We quest to the ossuary of the apex land.
Yet in this hoedown of life and death,
We descry trices to canonize our breath.
In the equidistant cuddle, we share,
We ascertain solace in the clad of despair.
Through brittle nights and rallying days,
We quest to unfetter from the maze.
Omega awaits to clarify our fate.
Ablaze of stinging anguish, we can't abate.
Inanimate entities, ephemeral, and plain,
As a ripple of anguish sways, weep in pain
Aside from that, the cosmic harbinger sky
Espies our destruction with a silent sigh.
An epidemic of metempsychosis,
We inherit the legacy of pestilence psychosis.
On hiemal days and hibernal nights,
We bear the stature of sorrow's bite.
In every epoch of fugacity,
We quest for repeal—a wink of clarity.
Bequeath and madness, we strive to overcome
Nocuous menace to switch what we've become.
We often embellish it as life is so anxious.
Our roots still hold the pinnacle to progress.
Decisiveness, anguish, and an urge to revoke.
Lead exposure us to a nonlethal stroke.
The dance of life and death is an exquisite art.
Delight and anguish entwine—never apart.
At the pinnacle of this poetic tale,
We ascertain that life's heirloom prevails.
Though pestilence and grief endeavor to bind,
We have the incite to bequeath them all behind.
So let us dance, with hearts bridled high.
Embracing the madness as we reach for the sky
Knock softly, when a child's dreams unfold,
A lullaby of hope, a future yet untold.
Nurturing their innocence, with love, protect,
For in their tiny hearts, the world's hopes reflect.
Knock gently, with love, upon a friend's abode,
A sign of care, a bond that's forever sewed.
In times of need, in times of joy or strife,
A knock can mend the pieces of a fractured life.
Knock loudly, when injustice must be faced,
A rallying cry, a call for truth to be embraced.
In unity, we stand, against the storm's dark tide,
With knocking fists, our strength cannot be denied.
Knock, oh seeker, on the door of your dreams,
Where reality and hopes converge in silent streams.
The echo of your presence, like a whispered plea,
Unlocks the gateways to what might yet be.
With each knock, a question, an open door's embrace,
A chance to find your purpose, your destined place.
Knock, and see what wonders lie in store,
For every knock, a new adventure to explore.
* Depicting a young child or baby with sight impairment
given clear vision
Lens enhanced perception
Sands your face with precision
Rallying rows of eyelash perfection
Brush my conscience, bless my vision
Thrown avalanche realisation
My astonishment reflects rapture
Silent diction becomes spacious
Adoration boomerang captured
Freshly arrived from dim duller places
I glean impact of quiet transferrence
Transfixed by sculpted undulations
Facial telling message emergence
Struck by contrast's dimensions
Your eyes emit layers translated
Squeals of delight bolster senses
Sight huddles sound collaborated
Bearing immense advantage
Wearing miraculous glasses
Definition's parade outlandish
Ripples accompany laughter
% = % = % = % = % = % = % = % = %
We’ve known each other forty years,
Or close, to be exact
And somehow, our core group of six
Has mostly stayed intact.
Since the start, our monthly dinners
Kept us in each other’s loops
And then we switched to daytimes
For the rallying of troops.
We talked of kids and grandkids,
Trip and politics and books,
But lately, we’ve had no idea
How everybody looks.
For it’s been many moons since we’ve
Been able to connect,
As Covid’s kept us far apart,
Just like you would expect.
A few of us have spoken but
We finally agreed
To FaceTime so we could catch up
To see where it would lead.
Despite some glitches, there we were,
Six faces on a screen,
The only way, pandemic-wise,
That we could all convene.
Though far from perfect, it’s a way
To virtually feel
That forty-year connection,
Both remote and very real.
Hearts torn and shattered,
Yells at tyrants, a dire plea,
Yet torture remains unbothered,
Greed inflicted agony.
Young and old precious souls,
Against murderers of democracy,
Arrogance, firepower, overrules,
Unfazed atrocity.
Those who raise their voices, beware,
For they may lie dead on the ground,
Heroes choose to dare,
Rallying justice to abound.
Who cares for Myanmar's plight?
Their struggle and their pains?
Should darkness engulf their light?
Shrugged, none of our concerns?
O wake up comfort's slumber,
Let's not be blind, their hearts bleed,
Nor let their hopes torn asunder,
Or leave their courage fade.
Crusaders of democracy,
Myanmar against tyranny,
Their lives of sacrifice,
Shall not fail our eyes.