Long Recitations Poems
Long Recitations Poems. Below are the most popular long Recitations by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Recitations poems by poem length and keyword.
As light plays upon the dark, that moon through stained glass windows
cutting a swarth across cobbled floors.
It seeps into the cracks like it's found home at last
How a distant piano to a curious ear attracts
a de'javu moment and yet it is unwritten.
You follow the fleeting seeking some origin
reaching out for inspiration as if it were original sin
All recitations from what remains unwritten
Those words hidden under the tongue just below the surface of a heart.
Contour of an image meant to be lived, yet remains unchanged, namelessly forgotten.
Its a melancholy of indecision climbing the walls of narrow passages like wisteria
you adhere to the impulse to cover all that once lay bare.
I drag tired fingers around the next bend, the next barrier
is more impressive than the last.
There’s an attempt to grasp something in the lapse between thoughts
to trade abstract beliefs for the tangible, it is enough to inspire devotion.
a shadow climbs the wall only to stall in its climax
abiding but a remnant of the unwritten.
Something is always left in these corners where candles aid their illumination
and thoughts drift elsewhere in the dancing theatre of undefined movements.
The unknowing becomes vagabond to the warmest of comforts.
You find yourself in these blankets of cloud cover observing holes in the disguise.
The veil suddenly lifted, experience immediate, no longer a stranger
so you can gaze upon these mirrors and hasten that journey toward home
Home, your feeling is kept fleeting, A temporal haven so you can continue repeating
these steps that lead you towards the perfect escape.
Always almost there... In this world of smoke and mirrors
Trapped in illusion that holds time obscurely
"The Unwritten"
So we bend beneath the wing of watching eyes.
Trenched in the words of silver tongues, frozen by the voice of awkward edges
For if the unwritten were to be before its time, If it were to flee,
to break free and roam; Become the breeze through these hallowed halls
of desperate belief.
To write the unwritten...
Then though they'd cry and shout and leap, No wall could stretch from sea to sky
Nor any kingdom stop it.
It is etched on the soul more deeply than stone
And we have given it a name...
Our Destiny
I AM EVER - WRONG
.........................
COPYRIGHT-POETESS-MRS. ANJALI DENANDEE,MOM
............................................................................................
i am ever wrong............
i sing my life's song...
in front of the dead body........
i am ever wrong.........
i want to see ..........
the sun...........
at mid night...........
i am ever wrong......
i want to see the north star............
at mid noon............
i am ever wrong..........
i want to see the full moon.....
at the new moon.....at night.........
i am ever wrong..........
i want to hear....
the laugh of the happiness..........
just after new born baby's mouth-toothless.........
not the crying..............
i am ever wrong.......
i trying and trying .......
to stop the death...
.......... of the living body........
i am ever wrong............
i like to listen.......
the recitations .....
of the dumb's mouth.................
i am ever wrong.....
i chant in front of the deaf.........
i am ever wrong.....
i show the mirror .......
.....in front of the blind..........
under the rays-shined……………
i am ever wrong.....
i pray..........
....to the nature,.........’’ hey ! ……..
kindly ! end , the tears of the humans ‘’.........
i am ever wrong.......
so i find and find.........
……by my foolish-mind………
.......the love in the endless universe...........
I am ever wrong……….
why ? because , I reach to the destiny ……..
of the successes-ways……….
I am ever wrong…….
yes………I want to change the rhythms of the heart……..
which is in my rib cage……..
I am ever wrong…..
I again and again…….
try to control my eyes……
please ! don’t close…….not shut……
be the ever open…..
at living body………
do not blink……at awaken times………
when I arise…….
and also do not close at sleeping times………
I am ever wrong………..
though I know I will meet with my death……….
and forever will stop my movements……..
yet I continue …… my breathings ,…….
…… always…….
……..un-necessarily………
………..freely………………..
I am ever wrong…………
to hold my age forever at stage of young………..
I am ever wrong……
I take birth ……..
……..again and again….
on this painful-earth…….
I am ever wrong…..
I waste my times for dreaming………
and request to the time ,……..
‘’ don’t go ahead ! ‘’………………………….
BUTT ME--
Oh Jazz Age of prosperity and dissipation
Jazz bands, bootleggers, raccoon coats
Bathtub gin, flappers, flagpole sitters recitations
Bootleggers, and marathon dancers boast
Butt me
Cigarettes, Cigars, Pipes, Smoke, Butt, Snuff,
Bone, Coffin nail, Cancer stick smokes
Looks Like the leaves are chopped up
And are made into forms, that can be smoked we choke
Butt me
Ahh! Unluck me Butt me
In a chance to chewed.
Be unrefused I just wanna smoke ya brew
Yeah! Ok, man light me
Hey, is it just me
For I can’t see
For the smoke in here
Hey, is it just me
Butt me
"Sorry man, I just wanted to smoke with ...man it’s real”
It’s not a joke I’m lit, I’m liken a beggar from Seville
Shredding cigar butts and roll
As the guitar and bass plays tolls
And the drums rolls
Butt me
Them in paper scraps to smoke
Cigarettes as them coffin nails
Got me lungs covered can’t inhale I smoke
Bound leaves called twists instill inhale
Butt me
In and sweetened products called plugs.
The widespread smoking in the Western set
Largely a 20th-century phenomenon set cutting a rug
Butt me I shall not resist the call
Merit a puff, a smoke a before
Nicotine to pick up discarded cigar butts,
Shred them, and roll them up
Given in to it a puff-a whiff
Butt me
As cigarrillos “little cigars” some may say calming does
Light up them sticks "Silent Generation,"
Bee's knees an older man in stellar clothes
A silver fox attractive, charming, and alluring class sensation
Ahh! Unluck me Butt me
In a chance to chewed.
Be unrefuted I just wanna smoke ya brew
Yeah! Ok, man light me
Hey, is it just me
For I can’t see
For the smoke in here
Hey, is it just me
Butt me
9/23/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2024©
From anthology #1 SHASTA JAZZ Dedicated verse for Shasta Simms
When streams of paper roses,
bleed bitter fragrances,
evil mists of leaves slowly fall,
drifting along autumnal
breeze of yesterdays.
And i question
unseen dirt trapped
between sharpened thorns:
what if the sun,
at the end of your horizon,
seems brighter
than the skies in my mind?
What if days are a little longer
than the spoonful of quiet nights
you’ve fought?
Would you still paint
hollow bones of every skeleton
in your glass closet,
with black and white traces
flickering through
sociopathic holes and into
the windows of your rusted soul?
But what if, all this time,
you’ve been seeing silver linings
through ruby tinted glasses,
whilst steadying
your befogged sight with the core
of the devil’s unspoken mantras?
Maybe, the fault is in what flows
beneath your thick flesh,
that refuses to let redolent air
to rush in,
unless wicked winds
orchestrate songs of your
delusional manifestation.
So unlock the rails of
your iron heart,
follow me to the fields
of fluorescent fuchsias;
for I’ve always dared
to speak invisible visions
of my scarlet desires,
as I run with teal green wildflowers,
where pleasure spells my name
across lawns
in soft lavender dusks.
I fear no mourning monsters
dressed in golden feathers;
virtual vultures
speaking in demonic dialects,
waltzing with energy vampires.
They pretend to be angels
of cyan eden, oblivious
to the burning hell they reek,
exhaling scripted sentiments
of sanctimonious metaphors.
Whilst rhyming with a
cruel conscience,
seeking for meaningless endings.
They craft empty
expressions in
ghostly recitations,
revised to ruin
every starry sphere,
where achromatic ink-sanity,
remains reluctant to
follow me and my moon.
GLISTENING GOKARNA
This scenic beauty, a grand temple town
Seated in the Arabian Sea like a golden crown
Bedecked on its bosom the blue beaches festoon
To name a few- Kudle, Paradise,Om and Half moon
Plays host to a galore of global tourists
Adventure enthusiasts and also motorists
Its a Sanskrit hub; has temples ancient opulent
Spirituality, Vedic chants have sprayed its sweet scent
The gracious mountains line the beaches pristine
Verdant vegetation like emerald has draped it green
Coconut fronds along the shores sway in gentle breeze
Colourful narrow streets and shacks to you please with ease
Savoring the magic of Sunrise and Sunset on the yellow sand
Makes you get lost in trance attaining bliss with its magic wand
In the twilight’s crimson red a natural painting of the retreating birds…
And fishing boats dancing with waves cannot be explained with words!
8th November 2016
My Kind of Town - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Janis Thompson
Notes:
Gokarna is a small temple town on the western coast of India in Uttara Kannada district of the state of Karnataka. Gokarna in Kannada language (my mother tongue) means Cow's ear.
Vedic chant-The oral tradition of the Vedas (Srauta) consists of several pathas, "recitations" or ways of chanting the Vedic mantras. Such traditions of Vedic chant are often considered the oldest unbroken oral tradition in existence, the fixation of the Vedic texts (samhitas) as preserved dating to roughly the time of Homer (early Iron Age).UNESCO proclaimed the tradition of Vedic chant a Masterpiece of the Oral and Intangible Heritage of Humanity on November 7, 2003.
O’ THE SOUND OF THE TREES WALKING MY GOD IS TALKING TO ME
Dedicated to God is Speaking Ministries Janeen Brown
O’ the sound of the trees walking
My God is talking to me
O’ I speak when spoken to
I hear so that I do
All of those beautiful, voices
I am chosen and trothed
I am on loan unto you
I hear the call of nature
Elohim speaks softly
O’ the sound of the trees walking
My God is talking to me
In autumn leaves talking
Chartreuse juniper emerald sage
Flowing down the trunk
Son soul rises speaks the fall birds calling
Winds soften cries whispers why??
O’ the sound of the trees walking
My God is talking to me
I hear the call of nature
Elohim speaks softly
In my eyes reading the word of God He’s speaking
In my heart flows his music I’m breathing
In my mind spirit thoughts seemingly
All nature every part of mine anatomy
Speak Lord Speak
Recitations whisper noiselessness
Vocalize keep me wise utter
Troll inflect deliver to me
Sing your love in my heart
I hear the call of nature
Elohim speaks softly
O’ the sound of the trees walking
My God is talking to me
O’ I speak when spoken to
I hear so that I do
All of those beautiful, voices
I am chosen and trothed
I am on loan unto you
I hear the call of nature
Elohim speaks softly
O’ the sound of the trees walking
Speak Lord Speak
11/15/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2023©
On the wind-swept Nebraska prairie sits a building in wretched shambles,
Surrounded by a sagging fence and overgrown with prickly brambles.
It was once a bustling one-room school house, abandoned long ago.
Its weather-beaten clapboards, I judged to be a century old or so.
Atop its cupola, swaying listlessly in the wind, was a rusted weather vane.
Eerily, at the whim of the wind, the school bell still tolled now and again.
Two ancient oak trees stood sentinel seeming to provide a guard,
To ensure that trespassers like me would value its past with high regard.
I warily opened the door, its rusty hinges protesting, to take a look inside.
Mice skittered across the dusty floor and cobwebs I had to brush aside.
There were well-worn desks, a blackboard and pot-bellied stove for heat.
To muse about its past and the ghosts of scholars of yore, I took a seat.
I pictured the schoolmarm who taught readin', writin' and basic math,
Who struggled to maintain order with imps who suffered her fearful wrath!
Little girls looked so prim in their pinafores and gingham frocks;
The boys wore knickers, buckled boots and gaudy argyle socks!
I could hear the droning recitations of pupils whose attention would digress,
To the ticking of the school clock anticipating the merriment of recess!
I noted relief on the teacher's face when at last the kids were released.
I sensed that she felt she had been nurturing a horde of wild beasts!
I have watched winds fade away, her foot marks in the sand
Watched, as the sight of her got swallowed in a distance
Her last words still echo like a loud whisper in my mind
Last words whose meaning is difficult to find
“Good” and “bye” should never bond
It’s full of bad, its sound and its tone
Kisses and hugs are for a moment
But their absence is a great torment
Love craves for a lifetime and beyond
Love prays for a lifetime till all recitations are gone
Good and bye cannot be friends
There is no good which means an end
Apart and away, who will watch me like her eyes did
Apart and away, who will touch me like her hands did
Apart and away, who will call me like her voice did
Apart and away, who will know me like mind did
Tides of tears flow in the cracks of my heart
Memories and fears fill up the emptiness inside
Promises and dreams are like a dim light
Suffocated like loneliness in the darkest night
Building inside me were melodies and words
That shot out and diffused in the air
They floated around, lost like flightless birds
They search for flowers and found them nowhere
Surrounding me are walls with no photogragh to hang on
An audience to a show without an act or a song
A stroll without a companion
A call with no ears to fall on
Tracks of love, tracks of her
Tracks of love, marks of her
Foot marks of love, is all I see when I stare
Foot marks of love, that lead me to nowhere
The Final Home Coming
From where the sky meets the high seas
Talking drums rolled out endless eulogies
As we waited, with the shore’s mud up to our knees
Some even did dance to the rhythm - no apologies
The mangrove flanked aquatic expanse
Its inhabitants in rapturous excitation
Announced the regattas' glorious advance
Even monkeys from trees did swing, in celebration
The colorful seven made haste to the shore
Their paddling, sequenced and synchronised
Each propelled by the muscles of twenty and four
The music, all but the drummers hypnotised
The wailing and drumming crescendos
As the casket is hoisted by each pall bearer
Threnodies and praise songs devoid of innuendos
Rent the air, from those to whose hearts he was dearer
Each relative, the other did strive to outdo
And to this illustrious son, give for at least once
With one good deed, all transgressions undo
Impressing the dead - the mind of a dunce
Priests did read Christian verses and made recitations
His soul, confused and standing with arms akimbo
As witch doctors also did chant incantations
Knew not which way led to Heaven, Hell or Limbo
In this carnival of his final journey home
He’d also sailed the metaphysical realm
Maybe, on tranquil seas that do not rage and foam
His first and last without control of the helm
silence through spoken word...
...filling the space to cover the space that's there...
trivial tactics used as blinders to direct my silence and my spoken
into traps laid out to bless the captured...
but to be caught means you're caught...
...snared to be led to lead another story for the message of change...
...to promote growth...to heal ancient wounds that still bleed...
...even though this journey for others brings me to my speechless recitations
that suffers in silent effusions never to be heard...in turn, turning up the volume
to many other mentions and expressions that have no bearing on the quiet I have to keep...
...it leaves only orations to be effectual...the full of no sound cannot articulate.. but its felt...
...no sound to help but it hurts...thus permissible sound to help but its loud...
...and your ears will only hear what you allow as you adjust my treble...as you adjust my bass...
...forced by this culture of boundaries that only wants to hear what is said
...which only saddens a robust, talkative, uncensored heart...
...which only transmits around the silent that wants to speak...
...which only mutes the cries wanting to be heard more than to word of mouth I voice...