Long Realism Poems
Long Realism Poems. Below are the most popular long Realism by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Realism poems by poem length and keyword.
There was a touch of sadness
A moment there came to be missed in time
Words were given in turn to portray the absence
For a portraiture of moments unforgotten behind
A mystery hides beyond the enigma
Truth within grasp yet deep afar inside
It felt meaningful atween this lunatic sinatra
Harbouring unrealize sins to be realized beside
With the night to chill this dreamless dream
Love of its true origin can be realized
What it takes is to simply embrace the sins
And moments no more need be fantasized
An unfounded freedom engifted to creed
A comforting sorrow enveloping yet to yearn
Those of blood worth sacrificing to bleed
For the sins and the engiver to soak as one to learn
It cannot be told how it begins
This portrayal and betrayal of realism
Yet a moment nevermore it remains
The sinful moments of time in lunatism
Form:
Cougar’s growl shakes me awake in the worst of ways
Her realism prances forth in my mind; I am disoriented.
The last line of a poem waffles through my brain,
And my eyes are not fully open yet. Poetry already?
I grab a piece of paper and take it with me to the bathroom.
Sitting, I jot down six phrases, and a poem begins to write herself.
She flings herself onto the page in dots, lines, and dashes.
I find myself writing seven poems before breakfast.
Without any energy at all and little conscious effort, it is a poetry day.
Who decides? Which muse is about in my head today?
Is she going to distract me from my morning drive?
I turn my I-phone’s tape recorder on, as I get into my car.
There are no more ideas for a day and a half. Then a full writing day.
Thirty six poems in twelve hours, my new record!
I am gob smacked, consternated, confused.
Where do these days come from? Who is in charge? Apparently not me.
Showing a whim, a fancy or grin
are typical expressions of children,
adults deviate from pragmatism
and pay more attention to realism...
while eagerness and enthusiasm
take us further than anything imagined,
or even something previously envisioned!
Transform your impossibility into something concrete,
nothing sounds more jovial than bubbling streams,
than the vivid colors of striking and serene sunsets;
only watercolorists make their scenes come alive on canvas
and explore stroke by stroke their persuasive imagism.
Anything that's bright-colored and vibrant dispels schism,
and on unexpected occasions, they improve their technique!
When portraits and landscapes appear to us too realistic,
it's only seen through the painters' eyes as intrinsic:
to all humans, they seem a showcase of indisputable talent,
not realizing that what they're expressing becomes their insight!
The Love from far, from so far, afar invisible eye pars watching,
seemingly flash of light
Luminous mysterious light, the mystic of reality's bright truth,
the only living realism of life
This is the life, not the earthly thirst and yearning, there is no truth here;
just on the other site
He always calls us with his light
You
Everyone
His solitude is the
... Love of Loneliness
That three-dimensional solid so symmetrical,
Suggests how life could be - understandable,
With only six faces, all square for equal sides,
And a formulae to describe what makes us stable.
This staple of stability is taken, unchallenged and assumed -
The rational is included unthinkingly in life’s plethora:
Carted to anchor that which horrifies and saddens,
And bread to float and strike chords which harken.
You can also make a cube into a sphere,
That circular goddess that looks like a globe,
Reminiscent of the earth’s fullness and dwelling,
With freedom, liberty and happiness so giving.
It has space, dimensions and co-ordinates,
And its tesseract is plottable on a graph;
Other polyhedra can be related to it
Its symmetry mutations of tilings laugh.
Understanding and sense derive themselves well -
You can't laugh at the cube’s skeleton;
Furnished, not flawed or gaunt by posture,
It's structure sits regally for exposure.
Descriptions are it's glory, that flushing realism,
The Cubism movement pushed academic boundaries;
Said that paintings can be made of shapes and cubes,
Which built a monument to reductionism’s theories.
That we can be reduced down to basic matter,
Particles, atoms, cells and molecules,
Is cubism's gust and enterprise for all,
Who gather so as to hear its paintings flatter.
I love cubes, and always have,
They’ve offered hope in times of despair;
Their eloquence and beauty spark with naturalism,
With natural life’s inevitable repair.
Over the confines of the cliffs
in a cloud of crystalline haze
in the midst of a tsunami of whistling
skyline shadows in golden amber
hues ooze into the ocean
triumph against craving
waves of fairy spirits
Pearl stone sparkles in sundrops
flying is my passion
I'm diving again
in a wide chasm
sapphire knitting
chromium marble light
optimums prime
upheaval toward verisimilitude
you and my floating rhyme
with an increasing susurrus
a gentle melody is heard
tonal fuzziness
reverberations of rainbow hues
a scarlet choir of classic lullabies
Written: April 24, 2023
A Brian Strand Premiere No 1211 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Mideast Peace: Oxymoron
Though descendent of Jews,
I feel boggled at the brutal,
nasty and wanton war between
Israelis and Palestinians.
Many innocent victims
bred to know and hate their enemy
impossible mission
to reconcile one Semitic
group of peoples from another.
The bloody English
begat and fomented
debacle between Israelis and Palestinians.
little more than a century ago,
particularly usurping territory
courtesy aggressive premise
might makes right.
The human species
hell bent on making war
reprisals rank as a ,
and can never even the score
I harken back to childhood,
when our family lived
at Lantern Lane, and the Dailey's
(who threw rocks at Georgie
our Dalmation/Boxer)
rightfully earned before their time
the title fear thy neighbor
an altercation such
as aforementioned above,
would easily earn a spot
on Investigation Discovery
though deadly crimes violently hardcore
reenacted minus the explicit killing
fields not healthy for children
and other living things,
nevertheless even the most pious
and peace loving
exhibit fervent bloody ardour
if kith and kin held at gunpoint.
The annals of civilization
since time immemorial
replete with chronicles
of battlefield bravura
touting (with laurels of profuse praise)
for ultimate sacrifice
unnaturally, unstintingly, and unwaveringly
bravely giving oneself
to father/mother land.
Beneath the surface of the skin
we all bleed;
mortal kombat inked
in Mesolithic Europe
likewise dates to circa 10,000 years ago,
and episodes of warfare appear
to remain "localized
and temporarily restricted"
during the Late Mesolithic
to Early Neolithic period in Europe.
Idyllic as the fantastical utopian yen,
I feel pessimistic patriarchal wheelman
who steer autocratic
leviathan of state (witness Tiananmen
Square student-led demonstrations
known in Beijing, China
as the June Fourth Incident
lasting from 15 April to 4 June 1989)
cuz twentieth century ruthless demagogues
wanted to squelch
pro-democracy movement,
and not only stole demonstrators thunder
but forcefully co-opted with lightning force
their toys such as:
sophisticated erector set and playpen
for dolls loving buoys Barbie and ken
the former coming to life
as a miniature equestrienne
experiencing magical realism.
"PENTENTIC"
Have you noticed the pen dances to the right,
moving stiltedly and smoothly when it glides?
Sequel to this action, creativity & realism I expedite,
the white smooth sheet is reed of every spite
when it gets inked with punchlines in my pen's might.
To write is my rite and a poet's right to be a wright.
What my pen does is usually against the odds.
Can you write a poem using only 10 words?
Yes, I can with lil' sprinkle of dexterity like nerds:
"Ten words, with lil' twirls, still can't tell what 'twas."
VICK MANUEL POETRY
{VMP}
FORM: Rhymes/decastich (ten line poem)
Copyright ©? 3rd November 2023.
The War Poets
The First World War wasn`t a world war but
a war of dominance in Europe chiefly by the Franc, British and Germany.
World War 2 included most country it was a nasty war
millions of people died, but strangely this war is partly forgotten.
It changed the map and brought forward Israel, which became a torn
for lasting peace in the Middle East.
But the war brought us great American writers like Theodore Dreiser,
Ezra Pound (poet)Ernst Hemingway and many others great writers.
The savagery of that world didn`t include so many poets as
the dispute in Europe also called a world war did,
the reason we remember it so well is thanks to Wilfred Owens and
his intimate friend Frederic Sassoon who ploughed deep furrows
in our mind and did away with flowering poetry, gritty realism
was and still is what poets should strive for.
In my dreams
I am limitless
Laws of nature
Are suspended
Force of gravity
Is amazed.
In my dreams
I can fly
Visas are
Not required
Immigration officials
Are bemused.
In my dreams
I am cashful
Bureau De change
Is short-changed
Demand and supply
Are hereby suspended.
In my dreams
I fly to Eldorado
Desires so real,
Reality realm in check
Dreams so real
Imagination is obscured.
In my dreams
I am free, so
Free to fly
Not on a broom stick
Sights only imagined.
In my dreams
My dream cars,
Arrayed in my garage
Chauffers lined up.
In my dreams
I am living my dreams
I don't want to ever wake up
My Dreamland my Gloryland
My impossibility made possibility
Dreams so real
Realism is bemused
Nothing is impossible
In these dream realm.
Alarm bells invades my world
Jerking back, to realms so real.
Alas!! It was a dream, I am awake!!!
(Written on the 12th of March, 2015)