Long Recounts Poems
Long Recounts Poems. Below are the most popular long Recounts by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Recounts poems by poem length and keyword.
The poem that I write,
Is the one that I fantasize of writing
The one that my muse, celestial being
Made of mysterious essence,
Regards as the celebration of my fall,
Here, in a world devoid of meaning!
This poem recounts of how
The shadows of my life
Get dissipated
As love resolves its senseless issues,
And kisses its broods
With the lips of my passionate tugs!
This poem recounts of how
The climb back to the heavens
Will be smooth,
Laden with light hearts,
Laughing souls,
And fragranced with flowers,
All having true and pure love,
Engraved on their petals!
This poem recounts of how
The life that I lived here
Turned out to be magical
Having, as guide, the angels,
Who kept whispering to my ears
That I am to keep on believing in faith,
That I am to bear in mind,
That the cause of life
Remains the ascent into the spiritual realm!
This poem recounts of how
The bits and the pieces of my toils here
Had their own purposes,
And how,
They helped me build myself up
Into what I ended up being,
A Goddess, fallen, for the sake of love,
But saved, by the comforting arms
Of that same love!
Pray, this poem is a celebration love
Though it be written today,
Someday,
I shall read it to Love,
And tell him,
I kept my hope high,
I kept treading in marshy lands,
I kept swimming with sharks
And I kept having dinner with vipers,
Knowing that somehow,
Someday,
Your grey veil of negativity
Would be lifted
And you would pull me
Into the garden of eternity
As it was deemed
By the Gods themselves!
3 September 2019
Where Frozen Embers Still Burn
Canyons scorched over time by an overburdened sun lust
A desolate lost soul still wonders blindly back
On that past, the darkened prairie grass, and covered dust
Where rain fell, love began, then turned icy black
Confused, buried through time, recalling if you ever were mine
Glimmers of gold discovered there that memories retain
Scattered rocks, sharper than my mind, thoughts refined
Landscape with solid features remains untainted in refrain
Our love was silent born on golden morning’s mist
Only a sad sun remembers everything that lasts
Silence in the quiet open air recounts every little kiss
Forgetting nothing in the embers of our souls that passed
Cold winters ice etched us beyond simple lust
Memory retains those golden laws of life divine
Still keep their secrets silent born in trust
Covers that distant morning when you were mine
Entered Rhonda Johnson-Saunder's Poetry Contest on 12/23/14 "Your Best Romantic Poem of 2014" Original Post 8/18/14
I once lived in high Montana
and I knew a man who live there,
went by the name Rodrigo,
known to most for his wild hair.
But Roddy didn’t grow it long
to try and impress some girl,
Roddy was a history nut,
obsessed with the medieval world.
He had all sorts of goblets,
tankards, and great drinking horns,
he must’ve owned a dozen swords,
but was always buying more.
Roddy owned full chain-mail armor,
wore it to the renaissance fair,
and he paid no heed to the folks
who would shake their heads and stare.
But Roddy’s greatest possession
was one he built with his own hands,
Roddy had a full-sized catapult
and would launch stuff across his land.
One day I went to see my friend
and he was launching things out back.
He said,”Get me that watermelon,
and we’ll launch our next ‘attack.’”
We loaded up the giant fruit,
and laughed as it took to flight,
said he,”If launching fruit be wrong
then to hell with being right!”
Next we took a bunch of apples
to achieve a shot-gun effect.
I cracked a joke and Roddy laughed,
so hard we didn’t see what came next.
A black bear in the woods nearby
saw the apples in their pile,
and wouldn’t find a meal that good
if he wandered a dozen miles.
He ran out onto the scoop
while we were both still laughing,
Roddy pulled the lever, unaware,
and he sent the bear a-flying!
The bruin’s moan caught us both
as apple and bear too to sky,
across the field to lodgepole trees
did the beast and his lunch fly.
He disappeared in the branches,
vanishing from our line of sight,
I stood stunned, said to Roddy,
“Should we go see if it’s allright?”
Roddy shrugged and started walking,
we both made our way over there,
high up in an old lodgepole pine
sprawled a frightened, confused bear.
The branches had broken the fall,
saved the beast from being dead,
I said to Roddy,”We should go
before that bear can clear its head.”
Roddy took a picture on his phone
to prove what had happened that day,
then we beat a hasty retreat
before the bear could come our way.
To this day Roddy still recounts,
in his booth at renaissance fairs,
how catapults can launch anything,
even hungry and wayward bears.
I step from my car and I see ahead
the shiny glint of smooth, polished chrome,
the place is shaped like an oversized rail car,
but never on the tracks has it roamed.
I walk on into the small entryway,
where fliers of all sorts are tacked up,
guitar lessons, baby-sitting, and a sheet
for a man selling newborn boxer pups.
Inside are booths spaced along the wall,
and a long counter with spinning stools,
I take a seat at the later of them,
the formica counter strangely cool.
I pick up a large, six-page menu,
laminated and bound in plastic rings,
breakfast alone takes up two pages,
they do a little bit of everything.
But I am looking for something specific,
to make sure this place is up to the regs,
because we all know you’re not a real diner,
unless your menu boasts of steak and eggs.
Wait, there it is, and they use t-bone too!
I order some from the waitress Charlene,
she calls me ‘hon’ every other word,
and says the cook does a great over-easy.
Reclining a bit, I take in the whole place,
starting with gray-haired veterans in the back,
boasting of ships, or wars that they fought,
with the proud images on their caps.
Nearby a boy, maybe just turned six,
builds a fort with packets of jam,
a tired-looking mother just rolls her eyes,
makes no move to stop her little man.
Some college kids, all freshly hungover,
have taken up residence to my left,
last night must’ve been one epic blow-out,
judging by the silence and lack of pep.
Just beyond them a young couple is
having breakfast with the wife’s grandpa,
he recounts the first time he ever came here,
on the arm of the wife’s late grandma.
But there’s the waitress, carrying my steak,
two eggs and home fries, brown and steaming,
hate to cut this short, but the stomach demands
that I end all this poetic scribbling…
HIS UNFORGIVABLE SIN
“unforgivable”
she said, when he broke his vows,
then he arched his back.
she was repelled by his act.
a lover’s smile kissed his lips.
“unbelievable”
she spoke, as she grabbed an ax
and approached the bed.
two cockroaches leapt from sheets,
rustling into the darkness.
“unforgivable”
she laughs, “you’re not welcome back”
nudists race down road,
their shame uncovered by dawn.
they’re grateful to see the light.
“unbelievable”
she recounts to the jury
“i’ll take my divorce
and all of his assets too.
i need to reset my eyes”
~ unsustainable ~
her marriage to this leacher.
her bucket poured out,
this saltwater fish thrown back.
she’d waste no more tears on him.
~ unbelievable ~
heaven sent a faithful man
stitched her broken heart.
first, quilted kisses hurt, but
his blanket of love protects.
~ unforgivable ~
a word not heard in her home.
she trusts her husband.
the sun shines on her children.
God’s blessed her with forbearance.
9/16/2017
Broken Wings contest Form U - U Pick The Form - Poetry Contest
Chosen Form: Tanka
Chosen word: Unforgivable
The night sky sways,
Like a cobra
And ensnares me in its web
Bidding me to dream of
The eyes of the one who waits for me
In a heavenly abode
Too magnificent for me to even dream of!
The night sky lays itself out
And recounts to me
Of endless poetic odes,
All written in love drenched ink and
Each one more melting than the other
Having me glide down in ecstatic lanes
Breathless,
At the mere thought of how deep
Must be the eyes of my own love poet!
In its silence,
I hear its songs being played,
Solely for me,
Songs so empowering that they push
Strength in my lonely heart
Bidding me to want to live, even if
Neither this world nor this life
Shall ever be mine!
The night sky hides from me
That which I yearn for,
My love, whose deep and dark eyes
Reflect the bottomless fathoms
Of the abyss in which I was thrown in,
And in its shades
Do I passionately wish to indulge
In uncontrolled acts of sin
So that the love that flows from me
And the one that gets thrust in me
Reaps the admiration of one and all
Merely by just being recounted of it!
Dem Tiff Our Pikin
Child Trafficking
Her echoing screams
pierced the night
unreeling an impending woe
rousing every slumbering soul
prompting a sudden madness
The other sits then strains
looking out with earnest yearnings
scarcely seeing the distance
streaming out the tears
remembering many sorrows
as she recounts her story
This one grows weary
as her mind wanders off
overly flustered
by the seemly misty dust
stirred by roaming feet
scantily clothed
barely holding on
bemused by this troubling reality
grasping weakly
to her unbroken will
The other held on to fate
even as she alter her faith
squatting with a furrowed face
staring blankly at the beaming sun
regurgitating their last words
visualizing her lost world
absence of sound is the deepest void,
where silence reigns farthest spots,
in that silence is heart beat of thought,
swirling colours of hope, mist of dreams
the din of noise like a turbulent gale,
sweeps away benevolence of such purity,
seedlings of truth germinate in quiet,
when eyes are closed and mind at rest,
when breath recounts the value of life,
mind remembers the time that is lost,
time that only clocks the material,
because in the void there is no time,
so void it was when it all began,
void it will be when it all shall end,
between the voids is myth of presence,
absolute reality is total absence of all!
find that void that binds us all together,
in that void is silence and voice of God!
Premier contest winner (6)
written 8/08/2021
The Void poetry contest
free verse
Unseeking Seeker sponsored
Languishing within seed was a gigantic tree,
interned through genetic code by the almighty,
furtive, stay buried, to withstand time’s vagary,
ever can human tasks equal this mystery?
streams of ants, leaf flags,will not pause till job done!
Moon shines bright and white, travels over dark night sky,
year recounts seasons as earth spins around the Sun,
streaks of lights like meteors, stop! admire! firefly!
tiny pollens make fruits, invite bees with nectar!
eggs with flimsy shells! but withstand a heavy storm!
rivers hold million lives, flowing miles, mountains far,
innumerable are these wonders out us to charm!
each of us like specks of dust in this universe,
souls unseen tied to God, creation so diverse!
2nd placement
written 05/Dec/ 2020
reformatted to 12 syllables for the contest! 12/12/2020
Life’s Mysteries acrostic poetry contest
John Hamilton sponsored
14 lines with abab, cdcd, efef, gg 12 syllables each line!
She leaned on her stick like the Tower of Pisa
Her bones, porous and brittle, might break any day
She’s all alone, her husband dead and gone
Her only son, years before, shot down by a gun
Sombre shadows now darken her path
Still there is a rare glow in her eyes
When young lovers’ clasp and their fingers twine
She happily recalls the time she was with him
She lived a life of love, coloured in enduring tints
Looking back, she has no cause for remorse!
Her spine’s bent, unable to straighten itself
Still there is a rare glow in her eyes
She oft recounts her youth’s glitter and glow
That takes her back to life’s bygone splendour
She lived content, her tasks as wife and mother, fulfilled
Now she is a garment no longer fit to wear
Will soon be reaped by the scythe of fate
Still there is a rare glow in her eyes
Now that her days are numbered,
Before her, the sole image of a beauteous form
The loving hands of God waiting to embrace her
This aged pilgrim focuses only on that goal in view
To the grave she quickly treads, never to return
And there is a rare glow in her eyes!
Placed First in the poetry Contest
Strand's (1054) Poetry Contest