Long Repetitive Poems
Long Repetitive Poems. Below are the most popular long Repetitive by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Repetitive poems by poem length and keyword.
I have been fighting back the demons of depression.
I feel it growing deeper each day.
Every night I begin to fear the next morn.
Not knowing if I can be strong enough.
Or will I just give up the fight.
For each morning I return to the ladder to begin my climb.
No longer wanting to struggle, my grip is loosening
My heart just wanting to stay within the void.
Avoiding the repetitive emotions that come with each day
No miracles even coming close to its form.
My heart is waning, I know longer feel the need to care.
I just want to shut out the world, to sit alone in the darkness.
To lie awake non-moving, not wanting to hear, to see, to feel, to speak
I fear that I am losing control.
Loneliness, hopelessness, beginning to grow.
I do not cry.
The tears are frozen behind my eyes.
Where once lived a fighting knight is now replaced with a damsel.
Trapped in a dungeon just willing for a way out.
Burning Complexity
__________________________
Illuminate like a vintage lantern
carrying me into the bitter darkness
watching as the Gondola man waits
he's repetitive, as he strolls the canal
the whispering night consumes us
but you just keep to a light flicker
And when I begin to lose light,
You just fuel the flame a bit
and so, the Gondola man sings a song of angst
up and down the canal as we journey on
until we reach the end, and the light dies out
completely...
You step away from the gondola man into the darkness
Hurriedly casting feet against the cobblestones
running...racing into the unlit shadows
you fall dropping me, I shatter, and my shards
cut you like a thousand knives…
my kerosene covers you like a blanket
and the stranger steps out from behind, striking the
match... only to drop it…
and as he watches you smolder in the moonlight
he leans down to whisper...
if you play with fire...you're going to get burned!
Nothings new, I wake up, same hour,
Greet the mirror, same reflection, no power.
Off to school, same tiredness, all days,
Routine repeats, in a monotonous maze.
Nothings new, as the sun rises high,
Same old routine, beneath the same sky.
Morning echoes, a familiar tune,
A cycle of sameness, like a tired monsoon.
Nothings new, in the classroom's embrace,
Same desks, same faces, in the same space.
Lectures drone on, a predictable song,
Day after day, it seems so long.
Nothings new, as the bell finally rings,
Same footsteps, same corridors, the same old things.
Homework awaits, a relentless demand,
In this never-changing, repetitive land.
Nothings new, as the night descends,
Same tired thoughts, as the day ends.
I lie in bed, the same weary sigh,
A lullaby of sameness, beneath the starry sky.
Nothings new, yet the world spins around,
In the same orbit, in silence, profound.
Life unfolds, in its unchanging view,
And I wonder if there's more, or if it's all true.
Nothings new, but I dream of a change,
A break from the cycle, a chance to rearrange.
For in the echoes of monotony's song,
May there be a whisper of something new, before too long.
One by one those behind the catchphrase
"An end to discrimination"
Took away freedom of association,
Freedom of choice,
The freedom to form groups with any rules that,
Might seem to exclude anyone at all,
Including the totally boring or the repetitive prankster.
Club after club were forced to give up on all their traditional ways,
Until there was only one club left holding out on
Their long held beliefs and traditions.
The one club,
That was prepared to challenge those who would,
Shut them down,
This oh so cozy little group,
Who were proud of their exclusiveness.
Wise heads within the club met with those who would shut them down,
To point out that they allowed women in the club,
They allowed men in the club,
They allowed people of every political persuasion in the club,
They allowed people who were bald in the club,
Those who were short and those who were tall were welcome in the club
People of every color and nationality and sexuality could join,
But the rule to be on a waiting list would stand.
The answer came back in a letter,
Stating that the rule was discriminatory,
And they were given 10 days to comply,
Or be disbanded.
Came the last day to change their mind,
Their ranks remaining unbroken,
Their resolve unquestioned,
Everyone feeling they had earned the right to be there.
They would not budge,
The ruling they would defy,
They would fight to the end,
One and all.
And they did.
They did them selves proud,
They battled for three long weeks,
Using anything and everything at hand,
And when about to be overwhelmed,
They used their weapon of last resort,
Their dreaded stink bomb,
So, those who were the eldest,
Could escape and start another exclusive club,
And this time people would have to wait,
Until they were over seventy to join.
Word of this development got back to the authorities,
An emergency meeting was called,
And an amendment was proposed by those present,
Who were in their fifties,
To re-establish the over sixties club,
With the waiting period allowed.
They could keep their moto "age has its privileges"
And everybody lived happily ever after.
Dear anxiety
Nemesis to my reality,
mental manipulator of tentative trust,
massacring my once sagacious soul -
you cut me into a slice of loneliness.
The fault is in our thoughts,
so I am haunted by the things you never said.
You remain silent to society's subjective eyes,
but a glimpse of a poet's soul shivers,
to these vivid verses held by ghosts -
echoing a repetitive chorus in a cathedral of screams.
I'm an uninvited guest in an audience with you,
so I drink poison in every line I write about you.
These words burn my vocal chords,
but I swallow them anyway,
as my paper heart pumps onyx drops
crying through my veins to heartache's recital
of an infected celestial mind yearning for a remedy.
But life is a cupid cruelty in dulcet disguise,
when your heart is a sinister seashell,
oblivious to potions of omen brewed in pigments of pixie-dust.
You're an unwelcome melody to my mystic,
composing an internal deadly demeanour.
I am the ink stuck in your cage,
dissolving like acid in your controlled carnage,
confined to trembling bleeding intuitions,
lost in corridors of horrific obscure mirrors,
whilst paranoia palpitates in a whirling haze of
magnetic ice warmth, melting my sanity,
amidst crumbling stars that lure cavernous comets
of silver grief to pirouette above frozen seas draped with
a fluorescent creme of skies.
As oceanic tides of topaz rise and fall,
flatlined into pewter streams of emptiness.
The moon coruscates in coral blue lies,
passing through intractable phases of trepidation,
abandoning light in black tourmaline nights -
pivoting into a psychedelic trance.
Rainbows fade before we can embrace
their colorful showers drizzling jade jewels
that rhyme with kaleidoscopic kismet,
as life through rose coloured lenses turns
into a provisional poetic manifestation.
If only I could escape this self-inflicted dungeon,
but you pursue like a perpetual predator.
I'll forever expose your oppression through my poems,
confessing how I never asked for this enforced affair.
I know I'm my own storm, I'm my own calm -
I just hope this is the last time I write about you.
He vanished without a trace..
Left her when she needed him most..
Rejected..
Abandoned..
Airwaves of shock..
Filled the air
A shattered broken heart..
Crumbled into many pieces..
Facing her vulnerabilities..
Alone..
She awakened in a cold sweat
Repetitive scenes of a nightmare
Day and night of excessive visions of his unexpected departure..
She prayed daily..
She prayed effortlessly
She had shed many tears..
Discernment had arrived..
She suffered so..
Suffering cannot be measured..
One's suffering is only their own..
Just is..
It was..
It had occured..
She imagined a sacret reunion..
She envisioned the love of her life..
Without bitterness and hurt..
Only..
Embraced the moment..
A sacret reunion..
His voice still spoke to her..
Disguised as the wind..
Two beating hearts..
The power of love turning into bliss..
A sacred reunion..
Visions of her beloved
Had grown so rapidly..
Many vines..
The vines of her beating heart..
A sacred reunion ..
She yearned for..
Awaited for..
A burning desire..
For two beating hearts..
Time had passed..
He was still gone..
The sacred reunion was alive and well..
Though..
Only in the depths of her soul..
It continued to flourish..
A sacred reuinion did survive..
Lived inside her heart and soul..
(Sonnetina Rispetto)
In my mind you're here day and night
For some time you brought in sunlight
Now each day I just think of you
Non-stop my heart for you will cry
No matter what I do and try
Even when your love makes me blue
In my mind you're here day and night
For some time you brought in sunlight.
Without you now empty's my heart
It's all broken, just torn apart
Now each day I just think of you
Even when your love makes me blue
In my mind you're here day and night
For some time you brought in sunlight.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2014
August,07,2014
Author's notes:
The "Sonnetina Rispetto" is a new poetry form
created by Dorian Petersen Potter
on September 8,2009.
This form has 14 lines with 8 syllables each.
It can be written in 3 quatrain stanzas and a couplet or
with an Octave(8) and a Sestet(6) lines.
The rhyme scheme is as follows: A1,A2,B1,c,c,B2,A1,A2,d,d,B1,B2,A1,A2.
The capitals A1,A2,B1 and B2...stands for the refrain lines in the poem.
Specifications restated:
Stanzaic: Either 4 quatrains and a couplet or a sestet and an octave.
Isosyllabic: Eight syllable per line
Repetitive: requires two refrain lines, each repeated twice.
Rhyme pattern: A1,A2,B1,c,c,B2,A1,A2,d,d,B1,B2,A1,A2.
Let’s sail away to Acapella,
A celebrity haunt owned by Penn and Teller.
I shall act as your prince, you’ll be Cinderella
When we’re sat on a beach in Acapella.
It’s not as sexy as Cannes or as dowdy as Rhyl
But their choirs and ensembles will give you a thrill,
Acapella compares well to old Casablanca,
As you will observe once we have dropped anchor.
Their libraries don’t hold any musical score,
Acoustic folk singers are considered a bore,
All keyboards and trombones were sold overseas
And whistles restricted to football referees.
So you won’t hear the bagpipes of Kenneth McKellar
Or repetitive bass notes plucked by Paul Weller.
Your voice will entrance all the ladies and fellas
Once we’ve moored in the harbour of Acapella’s.
There fishermen bring ashore haddock and bream
Having sung shanties as a well-rehearsed team,
The salty sea breeze gives their voices a rasp
And the youngest amongst them let out a gasp!
Melodic and manly, the crews ride the waves,
Proud of their seamanship, masters not slaves,
They heed the advice of their mothers and aunties
But rarely acknowledge the source of their shanties.
Once a solitary busker was found in a yacht
And by all accounts he deserved what he got,
He was forced down the plank at the tip of a sword
Then his vintage viola was flung overboard!
On the pier you’ll find orators and callers at bingo,
But no jukebox is pumping out John, Paul or Ringo.
Pop or rock music gives locals the creeps,
It’s no wonder that George’s guitar gently weeps.
So, if Customs Control takes your squeezebox or trumpet
Don’t seek compensation, you’ll just have to lump it;
Those instruments go to a processing plant
Because singers are welcome but musicians aren’t.
We shall seek out the nightlife in numerous bars
Where the locals all sing without playing guitars,
Dodge the Lambrettas in quaint cobbled alleys,
Then stride across hills and along peaceful valleys.
So, if you’re tired of concertos or singles by Queen
Book a cruise to a place where they’re considered obscene,
It’s a magical island owned by Penn and by Teller -
The remote principality of Acapella.
So let us sail forth across the briny
In a luxury yacht - well furnished and shiny
To where your vocal range will be valued quite highly,
And you won’t have to sit through Baba O’Riley.
My hungry fingers licked your face,
tasting every curve;
my eyes consumed your image
much like a starving child devours food.
Love-fragrance laced the air we breathed.
We were drunk,
addicted to our potent attraction.
Life crackled with intense emotion,
teetering on Cupid's arrow point.
"This is true love!" I told my dizzy self.
"A love for the ages; a love to last forever."
Almost we had that of which poets sing,
heaven was ours to clasp . . .
We walked a while together
the path that all must walk;
in the treading I realized that love was never what I dreamed.
Love is more than emotion.
Love is tireless devotion,
sometimes monotonous, repetitive motion,
a profound obedience!
What we found was life,
the working side by side,
caring,
training our spirits to appreciate inner foreign lands,
cleaning up the dirty,
laughing through the tears,
bearing the faults and sins of each other,
nursing soul-wringing sorrow,
Living an adding up the years kind of life. . . .
True love was within our reach.
©Faye Lanham Gibson, April 15, 2015
a sanguine set of sun
descants the symphony
of ocean's pulse
within the confines
of my soul
i find serenity
in the depths
of its hold
as my heart
serenades
in quickened strums
beneath the rise
of misted breaths
within the serein
of smoother skies
as they break
cloudless
above the wake
i feel the quake
of tongued whispers
as sand surrenders
below the wave's
firm caress
hear the moans
in climatic gusts
as they thrush back
through the lure
of depths unknown
searching for something more
than this repetitive pressure
against its shores
my mind contours the same
through the grains of time
shattered in memories of fate
where soul escapes briefly
in salted stains
across folds
of ivory flesh
unseen