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.
I lay down my thoughts like an endless river, as the sun sifts light at dawn,
I wish for you to smile, untouched by memories, without my heavy shadow, without the burden.
I see you walking down the old street in the sun, with ice cream melting on your fingers,
Among those who never doubted you, with eyes lit by untouched dreams.
I gave up the dream where I held you, in the crowd that whispered about us.
Perhaps it wasn't them, perhaps I was the executioner, my prayers, empty recitations.
I wonder if you would have met me, before life's masquerade ball,
What chance did a tall rose have, with a lotus blooming in murky waters?
Could your grace have transformed the swamp into a garden of shining stars?
Would your winds have carried the scent into my silent and deep ruin?
Or would my world carved from you have stained your soul's brilliance,
With the rust of unprotected things? How would your pure light shine in shattered mirrors?
Perhaps in a kinder life, you will find someone unafraid of your light,
Whose ruins know how to bloom, not bruise under my weight.
And if I am reborn in that hour, I will remain a shadow, watching you smile, from afar.
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©
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
Have you ever listened to Rock Me Amadeus on Karaoke
I would rather be a Bat Out Of Hell on my Stairway To Heaven
And that is what they will have to sing when my box gets lowered
Sunk into eternity while the pastor's Guitar Gently Weeps
For Singing In the Rain we can be sure A Hard Rain is going to fall
Pitter patter on the Eve Of Destruction and Smoke On The Water
Overcoming Sounds Of Silence on a miraculous Yellow Brick Road
Funeral For A Friend Knocking On Heaven's Door Born To Be Wild
I wish for a cacophony of voices a true concerto for a Tambourine Man
Honest and truthful recitations of Lucy Jordan when I cross the Styx
Caron shouts Don't Pay The Ferryman for my ultimate Ticket To Ride
A Script For A Jester's Tear has to ooze gracefully and Slip Sliding Away
Dance Me To The End Of Love and don't forget The Famous Blue Raincoat
For it's The End Of The World As We Know it and The Doors know The End
The Song's Over and from now on it will be Radar Love on Telegraph Road
Another One Bites The Dust and I have peace Somewhere Over The Rainbow
23rd December 2019
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!
We have handed over control
to a phantom, that insane inner voice
we name the 'ego'.
Listen not to those demanding monologues
look not to their twisted reasoning.
Do not fight with its recitations
give them no credence.
Such thoughts come
from the invasive roots of fear,
do not feed them with attention.
Don't identify with its words,
it will talk to us
as if it were our own true thoughts
yet they are not, they never ever were.
Turn your mind away
neglect and ignore
the ego's attempts to persuade
and coerce.
Our real thoughts emerge
from that space we create from silence,
there the ego holds no sway,
there its mad dialogues
can be easily expunged
with just a simple and knowing smile
of pure awareness.
Heart paralysis reflects unholy yearning.
She has wrapped her love in soiled paper
and hidden it beneath forgotten works.
Specters in the house heed alarms and float
towards daily rituals that rearrange pain.
Distant transmissions crackle through nights.
She has wrapped up her love.
Once fond recitations swam on breezes and
brushed lip to skin with infinite colour that
tattooed devotion onto vein and pulse.
Embalmed silence sits still, pregnant.
She has wrapped her love in flowered cloth
and tied it up with faded ribbon.
Home was an adorned method scorched by
evening embraces and empty bottles of wine.
Rooms now echo flatly, devoid of a beginning.
She has wrapped up her love.
We ran away together; we ran so far with
broken radar and injured souls that our hurt
became skin and forgetting became dear.
She has wrapped up her love.
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.
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
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.