Long Review Poems
Long Review Poems. Below are the most popular long Review by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Review poems by poem length and keyword.
I was minding my own business, like I usually do.
It was like any other day, and a hot wind blew.
About then, a whirlwind appeared, and I was surprised.
That's when the devil in the flesh materialized.
He said, "Me and you! Come on now, let's make a deal.
Take some time and think it over. See how you feel."
I said, "Tell me some more, Mister Beelze...Bub -
join me at the bar, but no smoking, put out that stub."
The red fella said, "thank you friend, don't mind if I do".
I said, "What's your ruinous plan? I'd like to review".
He said, "I'm looking for a deal, want something cheap,
How much is your soul (not that I think you're a creep)?"
I thought, "Maybe I should sell, the price might plummet
like the soul of a delegate at the G20 summit."
"Mister Satan", I said, "I'll need a signed contract".
He grinned, as on some nuts on the counter he snacked.
Lucifer said with a frolicking jump and a caper,
"Sure, we can draft up a legally binding paper...
that protects me too", he said. I felt hot like a toaster.
"Your soul's price on Nasdaq is like a rollercoaster."
I won't take more of your time, won't sit here and gab.
We walked out of the bar, and I hailed him a cab.
A deal was made, and we're both doing pretty well,
but he failed to consider, he'll have to see me in Hell.
This may seem strange to many of us randomlike spontaneity sans a focus Spontaneity drips involuntary &yet deliberate from above.Joyous expression of inhibitions,inner experience made free to be.Painter and creative force united as one living moment.It and its residue,to remain, in epigraph thus
In
Jackson Pollock: Memories Arrested in Space,by Martin Gray
..... with iambic Trimeter, a line of three beats (Iambic trimeter is a line of poetry made up of three iambic feet, creating a rhythm of six syllables that alternate between unstressed and stressed).., impromptu phrasing of a conversational style ,..devoid of figurative texture and symbolism
Gray' s purpose is to leave all interpretation to the poetry prose style is Gray's USP(unique selling point) in this bio poem ,divided into eight books ,(albeit without the usual notes and references ),all help to make this an easy poetic bio read.
Part one ,in 30 stanzas ,entitled 'Pollock breaks the Ice' is the most helpful to the student of art who seeks to understand Pollock's spontaneous ' energy made visible' of his' memories arrested in space 'as the artist himself so defined his painting.
So direct was Jackson Pollock
giving the art world quite a shock
Art with no beginning & no end
he established an artistic trend
Pollock impulsively hurled his paint
making spots&splatters quite quaint
Action painting novel& new
arrested moments out of the blue
painterly picturesque it ain't
Jackson opened the 'abstract ' door
laying the canvas on the floor
The creator of 'drip' 'flick' and 'stick'
spontaneity was his artistic trick
I fell head over heels loving you,
and you now say to me we are through!
How can you be so cruel, make me blue,
after all our great times, you construe
to be free, and this choice now pursue?
Just so quick, no review to undo
what you say are bad things done to you,
and no chance to amend in my view
any change that will work to renew
how you feel about me, work it through.
But now wait, looking back, it's adieu!
You're not worth my good heart, so hereto
we are done! Without me, you'll unglue
when a new love of life I ensue.
No more head over heels loving you!
Sandra M. Haight
~5th Place~
Contest: A Rattling Rhyme
Sponsor: Nina Parmenter
Judged: 08/28/2018
Fiction for Contest
At the end of this year and the start of a new one, you review the most important events of your life. Some of them brought good memories to your mind, while other you let go with the year that is going to end. The most important thing is that you commit with yourself to be a better human in the next year.
To all the Poetry Soup poets around the world, my best wishes for the next year is that the 2016 brings you love, happiness and health to you and your families. That your poetry flourish more than ever in the new year, expressing with words the feelings of the soul. Blessings to all. Receive with open arms the year that can make a great difference in your life.
Nayda Ivette
12-30-2015
8:58 p.m.
PR
You hastily spilled a loaded jar of stained language.
Sky aglow by a rainbow, as sunsets below a ledge.
Pouring a layer of dullness into a pristine scene.
Murky clouds have drowned the gentle sunshine.
Unscrupulous guarantees, sand-tidied venturing,
And the heart will stow away in the way they review.
In the azure sky, golden rings are instantly plunging.
Blackbirds crow around humans peacefully withdrew.
Storm haze from a weakening typhoon stream.
Realizing the window curtains inhibit late-day sun.
This fear involves a torrential downpour dream.
Nowhere for adoration untamed stallion to run,
He wanders around this forsaken dust bowl land.
Without a stated objective, just a promise in hand.
Dreams of enigmatic and utterly ease dry,
The rises speak culpability as they move away.
Written; December 26, 2021
A fearful mind approves each deft move.
As a roving lout, I have a soft spot and am sensitive.
Your clarion call ought to be a full-scale disorder.
I'm weaving dim deceptions over my slander.
“…when power narrows the areas of man’s
concern, poetry reminds him of the richness
and diversity of his existence…”
—John F. Kennedy
Medieval misery crushing citizens;
Shackled: grueling, clanging, negativity
Middle Passage past, plaguing, yet frightens;
Intense insanity—gangs captivity!
Draining dreams and desires from hearts—slashed:
Ancestral destruction, devastating;
Bones protruding from ribs, weakening—lashed;
Sight yet sickening, distraught, disgusting!
Will God speak in molding humanity?
Will His divine grace cleanse such evil souls?
Self posed dictators, fool’s insanity
Greed in governing—crushing others’ souls!
Where art thou, Master of the Universe?
Hold not thy hands while the poor suffer worst!
~~~~~~~~~~~***********~~~~~~~~~~~
© Joseph, 10/1/08
© All Rights Reserved
~~~~~~~~~~~***********~~~~~~~~~~~
Semi finalist contestant
292 out of 887 submissions
June 1, 2009 International Contest
~~~~~~~~~~~***********~~~~~~~~~~~
Joseph S. Spence, Sr., is the author of "The Awakened One Poetics" (2009), which is
published in seven different languages. He invented the Epulaeryu poetry form, which
focuses on succulent cuisines and drinks. He is published in various forums, including the
World Haiku Association; Poetinis Druskininku, Milwaukee Area College, Phoenix Magazine;
Möbius Poetry, and Taj Mahal Review to name a few. Joseph is a Goodwill Ambassador for
the state of Arkansas, USA, a college faculty, and a military veteran.
~~~~~~~~~~~***********~~~~~~~~~~~
Fake reviews
In 1963, I ate lunch at Andrea’s café,
her food was wonderful
I advised mariners to go for a visit
and be welcomed by a true lady.
I now learned that unsolicited reviews
are no longer appreciated
My recommendation was delivered verbally
Andrea doesn’t know she is a grandmother and
One of her grandchildren runs the place
I once ran a café in Liverpool selling bacon butties
I could have done with the friendly review
From the people who worked at the small factories nearby
but when Margaret Thatcher
Came to power, they closed down
A young man from Pakistan bought my café
Changed its name to Morning Glory and sold
Curried chicken and shrimp
That, of course, was before the hatred of the foreigner was noticed
When Britain woke up 3 million people from
Syria and Iraq had entered they were not as friendly as the man from Pakistan.
Metamorphosis
The future looms so much closer now
no dreams weave a halo around its outcome
aspirations have dwindled to respirations
insistence on continuing the game of life.
Most all of what I’ve gone through
have been referred to as stages,
phases of life, periods of adjustment,
trials and tribulations to be overcome,
moved through, lessons learned.
Not so anymore. Those easy “lay-ups”
early in the game, though as important
as the “Buzzer-beater”, never seemed
as “easy” to execute. Seems life has
become a series of “two minute drills”,
no “hurry up” offense, just a plodding
“three yards and a cloud of dust”
dedication to the demands of the game.
To “show up, suit up and stand up”.
Now I know why there are empty pages
at the back of the play book,
why spontaneity and experience
conspire to overcome - not overpower.
I review the plays each day
knowing it is not the game that must change
but my relationship to the game,
to adapt, to undergo the metamorphosis
of living, accept the gradual changes
of a future that I somehow “outran”,
the present it became, and the past
that fades beneath the clouds at the
base of the mountain.
1/14/2017
submitted to – Any Poem Written In January 2017
''Take The Kings Shilling''
Volunteers brisk march to a drumming refrain,
Men to war some inches to gain.
To ''Not forget''; we now chose to review,
Why did they go? Three feathers! from whom?
Couldn't see the problems! didn't have a clue.
Changing their place from a mundane to a new?
We can’t feel or smell what was revealed,
Rats gnawing their muddied meat meal.
Duck boards washed by insistent rains, soak,
A haze of cordite laced with decay, choke,
Dry socks, no cure for feet rotting in soggy clay.
We shed the tears they dared not display.
Man vibrates in fear at what they hear.
Oh! to watch the grass blades grow,
to hear the chirp, to see the crow.
Don't pick the life or shoot what fly's
They too have created lives.
What do those monuments realistically say?
Let's play a game, shall we?
It's a fun little number I like to call
"Do I miss you because I love you,
or because you're my brain's scar tissue?"
Let's review the facts, shall we?
You're a spoiled NEET who took pleasure from my pain
From making me bend over backwards
And watching my free will vanish
Like a parasite, you latch on to everyone
Begging for gifts and food like a child
Passive-aggressively plotting when you don't get your way
And everyone gives in to get you to shut up
By all accounts, you're a horrible person
So tell me why, tell me why
Why do you still haunt my dreams at night?
Why does the thought of losing you still hurt me so?
You're like heroin
Because man, doing lines of you through the night
Was the greatest high when the trip was fine
And the comedown was so fierce
So here I lay, sweating yet freezing
Dope sick and hungover after the greatest afterparty
Craving another hit to feel the ceiling again
Gently gnawing on my twelfth step chip
But you weren't always that way, you know
The love we shared was once pure
And each day was a blessing that I'd give so much to return to
And I think that's the you that I miss
But hey, that person died two years ago
You wore her skin so well that I didn't realize
That I still had a body to bury
Before you skinned it and wore it
More often than not, it's the pure memories I recall
When I'm clutching my phone with my thumb above the send key
And another withdrawal pang hits my temple
And jolts my thumb to the clear key
So where are you now?
I can't imagine I'm in a much better place right now
Eating my fourth cup of cup noodles tonight
Poring over a broth stained essay
It's comforting to share a pitiful existence with you
Because in a weird way, I feel more connected with you than ever
Sharing a loving, tender kiss across time and space
As we both scoop the last shrimp from the bottom of the cup
But each cup leads me closer to my dream
As you stagnate at home
Self-actualization is a difficult concept to measure
But your NEET dream dies with the last of your savings
The sun rises and the glare from the screen hits my eyes
Another frosty December morning
Through the sight of the rising sun and the scars you left behind
For now at least, you and I are forever intertwined.