Long Recognised Poems
Long Recognised Poems. Below are the most popular long Recognised by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Recognised poems by poem length and keyword.
Swish tailed Hamish, gloss black Stallion
Proud prize show hero bore blue medallion
Champion head turner tenacious steed
Lonely hoof stomper longed for a companion
Incidence of coinciding reserved to imagine
Narrow minded owners oblivious to his need
High knee haughty mare trotted by his enclosure
Temptation's waft overcame limited exposure
Hamish neighed a friend request, - she agreed
Lake rippled muscle, alpha outraged neck tossed
Winner's whinny recognised chance may be lost
Breaking barriers now became a necessary deed
Chest of windswept lake assisted stable escape
Charging through victoriously, gate swung agape
Asked lady to dance, she daringly took the lead
Dust distubed finesse surpassed usual manuevres
Hamish whispered happily, " Forever, the two of us."
Most cherished equine paradise known while freed
28th July 2020
Written for Contest: Tail End Stanza
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
Almost seventy five years had passed
before I recognised, guidance from above
In hindsight many messages,
so much full of love
No formal religious indoctrination, my father preached as atheist
my mother I don't know
But I remained agnostic, wasn't sure the path that I should surely take
always believed that Jesus lived, two thousand years ago
Modern existence, I find a challenge, so far removed from nature
and all of wondrous creation
I look to God, the greatest mentor we all have. I know that from within I must empower myself
but the connection He provides, is the base of inspiration
Cornwall is almost an island,
Thanks to the river Tamar and the sea,
Its indigenous inhabitants are us Cornish and
We Cornish are a nation - and will always be.
Kernow (Cornwall) boasts its own:
Parliament and laws home grown,
Flag, anthem and crest with fifteen bezants,
Cornish Pasty and Oggy Oggy chants,
Patron Saint and noble Kings,
National bird with its black chough wings,
Unifying tagline of ‘One And All’,
Cornish wrestling and silver hurling ball,
Ethnic Minority status, Unique DNA,
Cornish language still spoken today,
Nationhood recognised worldwide,
Facts are facts and the facts can’t hide.
We embrace our British neighbours
For we are part of the UK team,
But we Cornish are a Nation
And we have always been.
Westminster chooses to ignore this fact,
Let it relent and admit its shame,
For whilst the truth beats in Cornish hearts,
A nation – we shall remain…
I was sleeping with my childhood
friend in the loosed cot.
The weak boy was recovering from
two months long typhoid's knot.
November night not so hot
But pleasant time stayed a lot.
The nightmare began with
Running and shouting of villagers
From hill side to their nests.
Unfortunately It was the daily routine
From home to hill after a night's rest.
A roaring tiger with red eyes
Was chasing them to get more cries.
Villagers were healthy and strong
So they can run fast to save their lives.
Feeble can't compete them in race
So it was me who was going to be prey.
The real chase in false world
I ran as fast as i could
But damn tiger had more power
If trees can hide they certainty try
Perhaps the devil's eyes forgot to blink
So i have to climb up
But the damn followed me.
When I saw danger without think
Jumped from the thin boughs
And ran towards the high wall.
The clear warning was written there
' Be aware of dogs ' but who read and care
By hook and cook i climbed on wall
Seeing the dogs i recognised my fault
The danger was on both sides
So without thinking i turned back twice.
Trembling and sweating in cold night
i was neither living nor dying
Silently pray my lord to save my life
Got blessed very soon
Opened eyes in full moon
Relaxed when found in the cot
Lying beside the buddy as ice hot.
That horrible night
Me and the tiger
Played hide and seek
Closed eyes the tiger chase
Opened eyes friend beside
But thank the Almighty
Who saved me with all priority.
Free will whose
An egoic ruse
Please excuse
Offered clues
The mind body enigma
An outer form we call jiva
Inner layer soul or Atma
All within God or Paramatma
This preamble in place
The line of inquiry we face
From our core at an easy pace
Truth recognised solely by His grace
We the jiva with senses external
Having narrow agendas ephemeral
In joy & sorrow rotation cyclical
Live out a life tragicomical
Our the thus delusion
In myriad of maya borne illusion
Egoic thought fuelling confusion
Mires us in stupor of stagnation
Freedom instant by thought cessation
Resting fear & desire agitation
In restful prayerful meditation
Igniting within divine love bliss elation
However being bound by our own hand
Matrix of life yet we are yet to understand
We ask about free will before we can stand
The light within veiled by mundanity bland
So do we have free will ...
We indeed do if we are still
When divine love in our heart we instil
As the elixir of bliss within overspills
As for destiny
Of mind body entity
There is a blueprint but with no finality
Free will determining turbidity or serenity
When will we be free we hear ourself ask
In effortless stillness getting to the task
Is-ness of presence in joy does bask
Having discarded the ego mask
One day
Any day
Today
Hip hip hooray!
12-September-2020
Ghost Ship
Benjamin Briggs a master, with three previous commands
Took over the ill fated ship, which was to prove to be his last stand.
The ship originally named the Amazon, was 103 feet long
She was listed as a half-brig, and everything seemed to go wrong.
She had a lot of accidents and passed through many owners hands,
Eventually she turned up in New York, for sale and a new command.
She was sold and refitted; the owners bought her for a song.
Then they had her re-registered, to maybe help right the wrongs.
Captain Briggs his wife and child, in eighteen seventy two
Set sail on November the seventh, plus an extra seven man crew.
The cargo was seventeen thousand barrels, of raw American alcohol
They set off for Genoa Italy, not forgetting his daughters’ toys and doll.
On December the fifth half way between the Azores and Portugal
The Dei Gratia spied a brigantine, but it didn’t look right at all.
He watched it for two hours because he recognised the ship
The brig, that he had been in dock with, and he knew Ben commanded it.
It was sailing all wrong, it was yawing on the sea.
Captain Moorhouse knew Captain Briggs, was the captain he should see,
They took a boat out to the ship, and boarded her when they could,
On climbing aboard they found the ship to be empty, but all sound and good.
There was plenty of food and drink, but all the ships papers were gone
The ships clock was not functioning, but of the compliment*, there was none.
There should have been a lifeboat, but that was not there now
Just a frayed rope hanging in the sea and they didn’t know why or how.
Captain Moorhouse was perturbed knowing his friend Briggs to be in distress
He took the ship into to tow, it was named the “Mary Celeste.”
~GG~ 2011©
Compliment The number of crew on board a ship*
One day, between the waking and sleeping state
I slipped into deep trance like meditation
Attention animated, poised in stillness
I vaporised in the void of thought cessation
I found myself in an unknown astral realm
Karmic shapes appeared asking me to repay
Debts of love they claimed to them were owed
Nonchalantly I nodded, ‘come on, let’s play’
Instantly a soft white, brilliant light appeared
I recognised It as the luminescence of God
With a wave of His hand he erased my sins
The forms disappeared as I looked on awed
I was to God as a child is to his father
Just and kind and wise beyond measure
He took me by the hand and said, ‘live in peace’
It was truly an encounter I will always treasure
Moment by moment and hour by hour, our
awareness dips inspite of sincerest
effort but if we choose childlike laughter
as our orientation, suffused with
love and light innate to our soul, then some
of the divine boons that accrue, ease pain,
which though stored in our subconscious, yet is
the cause of stupor, making us fear fraught.
We’re oblivious to the truth of our
soul’s divinity singing the sweetest
hymns but these sublime ethereal songs,
echoing the music of the spheres are
cognised in staid silence only by those
pure hearts, who have recognised we are that,
that may not be named; our light which does tell
our ego to be still, getting rid of
narrow cravings, that but cause the saddest
moments in life to arise, borne by thought.
Inspired by these lines:
“Our sincerest laughter
With some pain is fraught;
Our sweetest songs are those
that tell of saddest thought.”
Percy Bysshe Shelly – To a Skylark
In a dusty fleabit mining town
The kind you’d see on screen
The stranger rode down Main Street
Looking evil, looking mean
He packed a pair of six guns
And a sawn off in his vest
Those folks was mighty nervous
But that’s something you’d a guessed
The drug store shut the shutters
And the hotel did the same
The sky grew dark and cloudy, and
It looked like it might rain
The stranger in his poncho
He stayed sitting on his horse
He’d rode near fifty miles
He was saddle sore, of course
It took some time, but he got down
Then standing in the street
He opened up a well worn pouch
And rolled a cigareet
He struck a match across his chin
And in it’s dying flame
Some folks recognised him
Though, they didn’t know his name
Moving slowly down the boardwalk
Headin’ straight towards the bar
The light’ning flashed and all could see
The stranger wore a star
He pushed in through the bar room door
And silence filled the air
Those men was mean and moody
He could feel their hateful stare
Sidling slowly to a barstool, well
The mood, it sorta eased
For at last they had a starman
And they seemed like they was pleased
The starman drank his coffee
Ate some victuals and some bread
It had been a long hard day,and
He was ready for his bed
But then he saw the gunman
From the corner of his eye
He knew the man was faster
And he knew that he could die
Dressed in black all over
Staring deep into the room
The gunman, like a shadow
Almost hidden in the gloom
Though running short of time
The lawman hatched a cunning plan
He only had one chance to get
The better of this man
Moving quickly from his barstool
Heading straight toward the door
The sheriff hit the gunman
And, the gunman hit the floor
Degradation of the soul is my lifeline. Burning flames suck out the sublime traits, of overlords stretching to take their turn in front of the lingering hatred of conformity. Your pitying powers of guilt spread over my skin, smother my well-being in sensations of over-bearing heat, lick at the open wound of my heart, as they spit the bitter taste of your fears all around. A creeping shadow forms around these bitter feelings, acts as my blanket to cover me in the warmth of their recognition, to re-energise the chemicals rushing towards their neutered end, speeding so fast they race through the kaleidoscope of my dreams. Slipping through under the cover of hollow emotions, I allow their desires to take the place of society’s army; I allow them to ride over the top of any control cells, letting chaos rain, reign over my tethered passions, the temerity of my hopes and any other sullied temptations of my heart, my soul, my whole existence. This blackening shadow, this over-riding wholeness of insanity, this enlightening feeling of impossible emotions destroys the comfort of nothingness which bears no ill health, kills all that’s near or dear and seeks company neither desired nor recognised. The banality causes the body to spread as the mind shrinks, causes the dumbing down of thoughts as ideology all but disappears, traps my silent thoughts in a veil of happiness that is neither permanent nor of any consequence, resulting in love that is dead from the waist up. This comfort, this conformity, this emptiness is not mine. I reject these and any other offering from the trough of this anaesthetised gene pool. I reject these temptations, these sterile gifts for the conquering feeling of chaos, for the feeling of an unrecognised and unchartered future, for the uncertainty of the mind, for this love of life – pleasure and pain.