Long Recitation Poems
Long Recitation Poems. Below are the most popular long Recitation by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Recitation poems by poem length and keyword.
POIEMA PERFECTED
made divine
& healed
rescued
&transformed
our life
fully satisfied
in the physical
psychological
& spiritual
appreciated&
appropriated
a deliverance
from bondage
healing hurts
& memories
life permeating
our being
in visions of another Eden
heaven
a deeper blue
erth sweeter green
as his poiema
flood the scene
a coming kingdom
scene
light
with
no darkness
a purpose
a direction
love made manifest
timeless
lasting
satisfaction
our design revealed
in our organic
unity
an immediate impression
death defeated
a vision giving
meaning to life
potentialities awakened
aesthetics imagined
given form
as dilemmas dissolve
emotions evolve
in
poiema
perfected
NOTE::THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' (intuitive cadence)& so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
uplift
my heart
dispel
distress
cast off
despair
begone
music tingle
my spine
emotions
realign
half dreaming
...dulcet
slow
gently awake
'twixt night
& reality
still
in no man's
land
now engaged
open
ascending
higher&
higher
presto
spinning
round&
around
escalate
&wait
a repeat
unfolds
phrase
by
phrase
skates
then
slides
stirring
into
action
continuous
exhilaration
echos
on repeat
from
edifices
of sound
strings
that sing
harmonized
into one
played
breathtakingly
fast
dispel
my disquieting
thoughts
Big Crit authorizes any person who has been called a poet in print to
wear an arm-band bearing the Happy Face.
Big Crit decrees that anyone who wins a poetry prize shall in respect of
that honor give all subsequent public readings of his or her poetry
while wearing Groucho glasses.
Big Crit hereby commissions the production of an anthology to contain
every poem ever published in which the internet is referred to, all
copies of which are immediately to be burnt.
Big Crit ordains that henceforth all love poems shall be printed in
mauve ink on lavender paper and all war poems shall be printed in
Gothic type and all poems about poetry shall be printed upside-down
and backwards and all poems about one’s grandmother shall be printed
in black ink on black paper.
Big Crit enacts that from now on the verbal content of all paid
political advertisements shall consist solely of excerpts from the
plays of Aristophanes.
Big Crit orders all those possessing a budgerigar to teach said avian
to recite one line from the verse of William Carlos Williams;
and Big Crit further declares April 25th of each year to be Annual
Bird Bard day, on which the recitation of poetry shall be forbidden
to all but parakeets, so that there may be no ideas but in budgies.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In the silent kingdom of lost seasons, where shadows measure the silence,
A day will dawn when you let the burdens of confession fall like leaves,
An old blanket of crushed convictions, your unwavering testimony grows weary.
You will tire with outstretched hands, carrying the proof of your existence,
You will tire of squinting your eyes towards approval-seeking skies, where clouds care not for aspirations,
You will tire of pouring from your tea, the elixir of validations, into foreign cups,
You will tire, a monk in the temple of understanding, longing for an echo that will not come.
And then, under a moon round as a reconciled zero, you will freeze with revelation,
You need not sell the price of your self, script your breath,
Your presence – a poem in itself, does not require recitation to exist.
You will let go of burdens, opinions, and unsigned words,
You will let winds whistle, cleansing the imagined realities of dust,
You will do your work, immersed in the deaf sound of your own beating heart.
You will exist, you will live, you will be on your crucible path of making a difference,
A play performed behind closed doors, for those with open eyes to see,
A sculpture in the infinity of time, where each serrated hammer leaves a star,
Only for eyes that can open the abysses and see the light from the depths.
And when this day comes, emperor over inner realms,
You will leave behind an untraceable trail of steps, felt but unseen, an impact born from silence,
It will no longer be hard, it will no longer be a struggle, just a free dance at the gates of dawn,
Where each breath is an act of art and each moment – a precious stone.
And then... then you will float, you will float like the sound of a bell on seas of mist,
And you will carve your own tone, and write your own music,
And you will row your boat in white, on the waters of a silver lake,
To shores of hearts that understand the rhythm of your steps, and hold value in tomorrow.
RECITATION
introduce
initiative
to focus
encourage
&light up
understanding
a natural
exploration
in
the
landscape
of
emotions
a notion
trailblazing
the spoken
word
exploring
initiative
clarfying
feelings
releasing
stillness
&
contemplation
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
Hear this recitation
the Lenape nation
bore a child of extreme size,
in the Onteoras,
the Catskills of yore now,
this man would live out his whole life.
Winisook was his name,
and he gained local fame
from standing at seven feet tall,,
to the red men and white
this guy was quite a site,
they’d not seen someone like him at all.
On the Hudson frontier,
way back in olden years,
a good trade between peoples was known,
be it trade guns or wives
they did find ways to thrive,
and many wild oats were sown.
Yes, the man Winisook
by a woman was took,
a girl named Gertrude Molyneux,
she returned his great love,
prayed to her God above
that they’re affections would prove true.
But her family did not quite feel the same,
said Winisook was the savage kind,
fear their honor dead if she went to his bed,
and pressured her to change her mind.
Despite her feeling down,
ahe sadly came around,
afraid she’d bring her family shame,
but the man that they chose
was known for some great lows,
and Joseph Bundy was his name.
A son of the Dutchmen,
she was pushed to wed him,
and below the peaks they did live,
but Bundy was shady,
he gambled, had ladies,
misery was all he could give.
Winisook felt saddened,
more than a bit maddened,
but at this point should he persist?
So he tried to forget her,
his beloved lover,
not knowing her heart remained his.
His efforts brought nothing,
he could not stop loving,
would speak with her when Joe was gone.
she’d not deny her heart,
or from his be apart
even if people might call it wrong.
Off to the mountains the two made their way,
to where Winisook’s tribe did abide,
he took her as wife and they set up their life,
and soon three fine children arrived...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
Vasava – An untold story 10/Many
Curtains made of Silk with gold thread embroidery
Were hanging on all the doors and windows of the auditorium
Big silk curtains, were hanging behind the dance stage
Shining and blinking, because of gold and silver on them,
Were brightening the dance stage, making it bright like a day
Beautiful Persian carpets were displayed
Covering the entire auditorium, where the guests were sitting
A thin such carpet was also lying, all around the stage
Leaving the dance floor, which was made of Mahogany wood
On which, Vasava was sitting to start her first Raga of the day
All the eyes were drinking the nectar like wine of Vasava
So lovely were her looks and so intoxicating was her youth
The beauty of her spotless body, was spreading its charms
Which was coming out, from every part of her body, specially
The matchless beauty of her eyes, legs, waist, hands and bosoms
King Suyodhan was invited on the stage to declare the Utsava to begin
And then appeared the attraction of the Utsava or the day, Vasava
The drums and musical instruments began to flow their sounds
The team of musicians accompanying Vasava, took seat near her
Suddenly all became speechless, so that they may not miss a word of her singing
Vasava’s face appears to have taken, the beauty from full Moon glow
And the gold Noopur* which she wearing in her feet’s
Were ringing, on her leg’s movements, creating a melody on its own,
Her recitation of Saraswati’s* prayer had already enthralled everyone
And now she was about to begin, her first performance of the day
Ravindra to continue in 11
Kanpur India 21st March 2010
Copy writes protection as per Poetry Soup automatic Copy write provisions also.
* Gold Noopur Noorpur means small bells, which dancers wear while
performing the dances in Indian. The Noopur which
Vasava was wearing were made of Gold. It creates a
sound on the movements of legs. Normally it is made
of brass and many such are tied up in a cloth belt.
* Noopur A hallow anklet containing tiny bells
No way to dodge fiat decreeing death sentence
for this rambling man
cheesy alias con commit tented mouse élan
Who felt unready to kick the can
On account of violating ban
Against abominable illegal mandate
With no way to commute death sentence
For the simple act of voicing opinion
against exist of heavenly gate
Of hellish underworld
despite religious opiate decreeing penance
Spurious pedagogical poetic rant
dialed up x telephonic times
Not the ravings of some half mad lunatic
Carefully plotted recitation
that springs from combined teachings of Kant
And jolly old Saint Nick
Charges trumped up per this average trump petting don
Purportedly blaspheming judeo-christian paradigm
Upending blind faith equated with hill of beans upon
Which dogma erected epitomized
by complex edifices via grime
Sweat and tears from slave labor
where usurpation of freedom won
Until outspoken spokes persons risked life and limb
To invalidate the existence
of supreme deity who created life
Whether for extra credit or perhaps on a whim
Adam from whose rib cage
without anesthesia but razor sharp knife
Sported eve with a physique quite pleasing and trim
But rather than get lost in the Garden of Eden myth
Final seconds of existence tick away
Without intent to recant statements
?
solely acceptable to b’ni brith
Prompting last words of mine as oye vay
With no regrets - deeming heart of religion flimsy as pith
Thing in the wind or house of cards
vulnerable to blow away!
Sometimes, one must say goodbye
to a true love, by and by,
and, so it seems, today's the day
I had to throw my true love away.
Perhaps you may think it strange
that the one I love is my cassette tape collection,
but consider -
she's been with me since high school,
growing with me, sharing good times and bad.
Like me, she's grown old and no longer useful.
She's just taking up space.
I must admit, I can't play her anymore.
So, one by one, I separated
the cassettes,
the plastic cases,
and the handwritten playlists.
I'll keep those playlists of carefully selected songs,
marking the milestones of my life, as keepsakes -
tenth grade, when young love consumed me,
Only Love Can Break Your Heart,
eighteen, when I went out on my own,
and pirated Al's record collection,
Hobo's Lullaby and Foreign Affairs by Tom Waits,
then to college and the dorms
old psychedelic records from San Francisco
Fresh Air, What About Me?
Dean's folk music records,
Joan Baez and the Child Ballads,
Barbara Ellen,
Johnny Cash's Christmas Album, The Christmas Spirit -
Johnny's recitation of The Ballad of the Harp Weaver
by Edna St. Vincent MiIlay.
My wife even liked some of those songs -
and then all the children's albums,
folk albums,
and children's folk albums -
Ol' Bangum,
that I'd played for my son.
Wouldn't you know, he developed his own taste in music.
Tapes copied from friends, libraries, radio shows,
too numerous to count.
I can remember all the songs, but not all the sources.
I'm amazed at how many songs
composed the soundtrack of my life.
Sometimes, one must say goodbye
to a true love, by and by,
and, so it seems, today's the day
I had to throw my true love away.
GIFTS OF GOD
Chrestotes chara praotes
inwardly kind,full of joy
Oiktirmos egratia spoude;
anechomai;
gentle meek;compassionate;
yet in control
Arete, pistis,hupomone
diligent
enduring with patience
gnosis,zezoo phusioo
perpereuomai;
moral ,persuaded
to trust
Hagnotes elpis agape
Tapeinophrosune
persevering,understanding;
not boastful or arrogant;
eusebeia Agathosune aeltheia
blamelessly pure, hope filled
filled with agape love
anupokritos philadelphia;
humble in godliness;charitably good
integral sincere
Dokime zezoo makpothumia
diakaiosune eirene
brotherly kind;
proven of character;
not jealous, but forbearing
set right with God
and at one