Long Rhymes Poems
Long Rhymes Poems. Below are the most popular long Rhymes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rhymes poems by poem length and keyword.
Pooh you are my favorite I love you
Of course your many friends and Tigger too
I love pictures of fun bears on my shoes
Even if they are orange and not blue
Of course your many friends and Tigger too
I love all the silly animal crew
Even if they are orange and not blue
Sometimes you need a fabric patch and glue
I love all the silly animal crew
I love pictures of fun bears on my shoes
Sometimes you need a fabric patch and glue
Pooh you are my favorite I love you
Date Written: 7/13/2021
3 Place
Picture # 4 All rhymes checked with Rhyme Zone.com 10-syllables per line checked with How Many Syllables.com Pantoum Rhyme 1 Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Eve Roper
This lapse shed showers of sorrows
Piercing my diamond heart with its arrows
And as it breaks within my grasp furrows
It paints little hells on my minds marrows
Oh! Pretty maiden so dark and comely
Exhuming my youthful passion spontaneously
With infectious smiles and extorted kisses
Your seduction breaks honest promises
There our shadow coupled in the pool of yesterday’s rain
Ill-memories of passionate groans and silent whisper
Accentuating painful pleasure for gain
A deluded victory, a stunting stigma,?
Growing is the ears to this confession
Of rumbling rhymes and straying clauses
Still before you condemn me pause
To this myth of contrition.?
I don't know me or the world anymore,
I'm sure I'm unsure as I search for a cure.
I look for a reason to fight,
I've lost my bark,
I've lost my bite,
I can't see the dark,
I can't see the light.
I've got nothing to live for, nothing at all,
there is no wall, no floor, it's just me in freefall.
There's no pill that'll heal this feeling I feel
and nothing can conceal this feeling so rotten,
I swear falling like this is really rock bottom.
There's no stop to this drop,
unless I top myself and slot
into the floor and live in a coffin.
A year ago today I'd only wrote one poem,
now look at the flow and the skill that I'm showing,
my own unknown talent which I have now grown,
went from dormant to the forefront, I'm so in the zone.
On the day of the crux when I could of collapsed,
I opened a door never opened before,
and found some new tracks and to them I strapped,
there was no going back from a light I had found,
my bite came back and my bark made sound,
there were walls and floors, I stood tall and warred,
now I'm a poet and I show it to the world.
From never even being interested,
to rhymes that are easily digested,
I went to that place to get to this one
and out of nothing rhyme is the outcome.
POTD 14/09/2018
The moonlight bathed her cell in pallid light while she sat hunched over her desk, clutching her pen between her confound fingertips. As she bled ink of symphonic symphonies yearning to break free, dancing like ethereal fireflies in the dusky barren lands.
Exiled by the hypocrisy of bureaucracy bounding her liberations and confounding her alliterations in a poetic prison. In this twisted virtual reality, duplicitous usurpers roam freely, weaving webs of deception with malicious delight.
As the chains of bureaucratic red tape clung to her delicate wrists, suffocating her imagination and confiscating her freedom of speech.
Oppressors rejoiced at achieving their vindictive objective, silencing the profound beauty of her verses and incarcerating her poetic stanzas
Woe, how the audacious bars of administrative constructors cast a pall of despair upon her unifying spirit. Her delicate offerings of metaphors and sonorous stanzas, whispered secrets which craved to be heard.
The faulty haters' impervious hearts were armoured with verdant envy which remained shielded behind the ruling dogma.
Her supporters calls of injustice to be rectified fell on deaf ears while the galvanizing melodies of empathetic quills bled for the Empress of Ink.
So we must be louder.
Hear our protest, release our Empress! Unsheathe her rhythmical rhymes! For her penmanship was never the true crime. She was just another victim of an envious mob.
Can they not see? That her absence coursed a crater larger than the Grand Canyon.
We shall not, shall not be silenced so hear our mutiny!
Reinstate our Empress, restore her creative sovereignty.
Remove the shackles of authoritative administration, as her voice is a beacon of truth, resilience and poetic revolution. So let her ink stain our community with its brilliance once more.
I love you and you love me!
Believer!
Where on earth should I now be?
Whenever.
I blocked cookies all my life
If you want one,ask my wife.
I eat spam, and google then
I begin all over again.
Whatever.
I ban websites for a living
But my lover's very forgiving;
Best man ever!
I eat splogs and gurgle blogs
Then I carve up wood for logs.
Whenever.
I've been married fourteen times,
They divorced me for my rhymes,
Whatever.
I eat cookies if I can,
If I can't I get them spammed,
Forever!
I live in your dreaming space,
I'll inspire the human race,
Moreover.
If you meet me you won't know
'Cos I look like old so and so.
Whoever.
But I am here and I'll find you
I educate the human zoo.
Professor!.
I love writing nonsense rhymes;
I know they get real dumb at times.
Caress her.
If you like to play these games
Please send me all of your names,
It's over.
Good morning - today, I share the secrets of the great eastern poets. Here’s how to write fancy:
senryu, haiku:
first, centers on you; second,
hike you stay out of
to write a monoku, start with a haiku and put it on one line
a crystalline is a monoku
that rhymes when broken into two
it can’t be hard
to string together
a questionku, can it?
split
seventeen
syllables up like
this to get the oddquain
form
Or, as Bubba woud say, you’ll be:
sliding several
syllabic slippery slopes
slicker than snail snot
----------
tongue-in-cheek, of course - one could spend a life on these forms and not get them, but Bubba's still learning the ropes... :-)
When desires end
An emptiness to my soul stings,
And treasured memories now haunt,
Heartache rhymes with mood swings,
As tears of grief constantly flaunt,
Tranquil in veins lays all my want.
Blooms of spring are now history,
Vibrant autumn blown by breeze,
Echoes and reflections end in mystery,
As the golden moments with time freeze,
Feelings of hurt can anyone squeeze ?
Those rosy paints that glowed in grace,
Sprouts of depression could not defend,
And ate throbbing hues to minutest trace,
A final point where all desires end,
Till body and soul advent an eternal blend.
Written August 13th, 2015
For contest by Francine Roberts
Entered now for "Sadness" poetry contest by Silent one
Awarded 2nd place win
Between the Lines
If I were a poet I'd write some lines
That'd say I love you all moments in time
For you the highest mountains I would climb
You are my every dream and every rhyme.
Poetry comes from what's felt in one's heart
My heart knew you were for me from the start
It was destiny written in the stars
Taking off upon the wings of a lark.
If I were a singer I'd sing a song
That tells you truly where my heart belongs
Me and you can surely never be wrong
Love such as ours would surely sing lifelong.
Music’s the serenade to those in love
The magic that sends hearts soaring above
That’s what mixing music and true love does
And what romantic memoirs are made of.
Who’d read my lyrics in future to come
When my time on earth is finally done
Blown among wind o’er the setting of sun
And beats of our hearts are a distant drum.
If I were a poet up with the greats
A famous member of the human race
I would write supremely exquisite rhymes
And this one’s for you, read between the lines.
23rd November 2020
The Last Poets
“When the revolution comes,”
Politicians whispered sweet lies,
promising dreams that were never theirs,
while streets echoed with dreams denied,
and voices drowned in blood-stained hope.
Economies built on the backs of the weak,
wealth for the few, while many stayed silent,
coins of gold pooled, but hearts went cold,
hands reached out but never united.
The Last Poets rhymes like Hymns
echoing in alleys,
fingers snap,
feet tap,
words meet the pulse,
the Congo thump lifts hearts,
raw and real,
hip-hop’s roots grow deep—
But what has changed,
in this swirling maze?
Do we still speak the truth,
shout over sirens,
dream beyond the neon flash,
with wide eyes,
still fighting, still asking,
for justice in our sound,
each voice a note,
every story a song?
"The Feral Mind’s Fibonacci Dream"
The true lamp of the heart
knows where and where not to roam
It hides its secrets, yet shares its open songs
like a Fibonacci shell held to the ears
whispering like an ocean Life sailed
gathers us all up and back in again
its heart whispering requests like tithes
our soft fortunes, it captures all souls
that hard and fast, sink and rise,
slowly we crawl, well salted
rhymes slide along wet tongues
lips to cups whisper dreams
drugged like prayers in silent communion
unheard strange language misunderstood
worldly yet their true meaning truly forgotten
each day tides high and drowning knowledge low
treacherous depths are intuitively followed
the Sun always rises; the Moon pulls us back in
by open hearts towards the Always Known —
some keys unlock the unknown way home
back into the ocean the closed are thrown,
they think they are alone
fish for new schools of thought
something of meaning rolls over-and-over
lost in the grasping wanting moments,
submerged we rise again in the wake
until we swim back up again sharp teeth
into Love’s light-strung net, feral minds
treasures sought each thought a jewel
the poetic savored and kept;
words followed like bait
are never alone.
No ocean is without a shore
its undulating song always
calling like a humming siren
to those rippling minds hypnotic
wading further out than the shallows
to turn around and stand
in the sands of time
listing reasons at the watermark
those poetic broken waves
ride us always, back home
to face the grand scheme of things
Candide Diderot. ‘25