Long Riddles Poems
Long Riddles Poems. Below are the most popular long Riddles by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Riddles poems by poem length and keyword.
The RIDDLER
Riddles are all cracked up to be
I talk, I see and the best comes out of me
The summer shines rain over the sea
Given money, yet I take it back easily
I pay the price that comes for free
With an angle of 86.3 degrees
I gave, I took now I have more than three
Standing left on my right knee
How it came to this, I could not see
Reach in and touch what you can't reach
I slowly stung the heck out of a bee
Living to follow and fall to the Omega-He
I ask for coffee you pour me tea
I found a pebble smaller than the seed of a pea
A curse to the one who can foresee
Life begins at the end of every war
Bleeding on the outside at the center core
Homebound in the ocean near the shore
The best fun comes out of being bored
I found an open box that was set to store
My dried up tears, long to hit the floor
Blocks in front of the old close door
A smile to give, I want more
Given to the rich from the poor
My heart is new, tired of being sore
A package of love and hate I give to you
We play the fool, he puppets the actor
A far stretch from the old days of a carnivore
I captured a RIDDLE in less than 50 lines
I'm the newest conquistador (A)
By: P.D.
((I have nothing to think of))
HAPPY 4th of JULY
Vanishing, always, I knew how to hide,
Like the moon that hides at dawn, silent at dusk.
Layers of riddles and puzzles wrap around me,
Each word a vow I cannot naturally keep.
Like a body forgotten by time, in a cold grave,
I passed through time, leaving only shadows on the paths.
Smoke from a fire put out by the sea, carried on a passing breeze,
That's how I scattered myself, with the folds of time, into a horizon.
Vanishing, I sailed on a ship of dreams,
Fast, unpredictable, like the sea upon the sand.
I left behind roads and places leading nowhere,
In the constant memory of a being that isn't me.
Like a déjà vu at night that stirs your mind with no connection,
You'll wonder, within these four walls, if I ever existed,
Or maybe I was only a story born in dreams,
An echo of a thought, in a scattered mind.
Vanishing, I have always chosen this road,
When you come to me, knocking at the gate,
The door will open on its own, at a gentle knock,
Empty houses have doors with no locks, in the night.
A simple hello will echo into a thousand goodbyes,
Because once again I have no choice but to leave, to let it all go.
I've found myself a new home, in an old cabin on the high hill.
God knows none of this is by my own will,
In my heart of encrypted thought.
And you, wandering through my fading memory,
Will feel the melancholy, like a dream disappearing.
Vanishing, I was, I am, and I will be,
An echo of the ephemeral, in a universe of memories.
Double Minded
I doubt that my insides reflect my outsides
Outside, I want to trust and love you
inside an eerie feeling brews.
Outside I smile and carry on
inside my feelings don't
have words attached
just signals of how
you make me feel
apprehensive and rushed.
Thoughts speaking in riddles
reminding my mind
of your unkindly acts
you treat me as a pigeon.
My outside can no
longer stretch to hide
The strain of pain
I feel inside.
How do I look at you
And not feel disdain.
Sad to know my kindness
somehow appeared as weak.
You don't acknowledge what I speak.
Inside myself, I get caught up
Outside myself, I want to show.
What my insides, really know.
Please, tell me, oh LORD,
WHAT AM I?
Am I a reality that constantly dreams
Or
Am I a dream that reality yearns to be?
Am I a sign of Your divine immortality
Or
Am I the expression of brute mortality?
Am I a saint of Your blessed compassion
Or
Am I a cursed demon of damned cruelty?
Am I a ray of Your luminous truth
Or
Am I the darkness of ominous ignorance?
Am I the expression of Your unconditional love
Or
Am I the unending deleterious hate?
And finally, tell me, oh Lord,
Am I the humble servant of Your Holy creation,
Or
Am I the conceited destroyer of your glorious design?
For a long time now, I have understood, my Lord
That
I cannot be only the one, nor can I be only the other
But
Both I would say I am,
Since
As long as I live, I have felt the everlasting battles of
The two adversaries within my bewildered soul,
However,
The reason why this is so, certainly, I do not know!
Is it, perhaps, all this a riddle to be solved
Or
A mystery by me to be explained?
For if it is,
I honestly declare that good with riddles I am not
And
You, oh Lord, know better than myself
That
Unable I am a solution to find,
For
Mortal I was created and limited is my perception
Thus
Unconditionally, into the palms of Your divine hands
My soul, I place
Ready
To follow, obediently, the path that You for me
Have traced!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
24 April 2021
My last line was written under the bridge—
where the river kept no counsel
and the stones remembered nothing.
A wind, thin as a beggar’s plea,
scraped at my coat
as if to ask why a man must finish
anything at all.
I wrote of the world’s crooked mercy,
of faces blurred by rain,
of footsteps that never turned back
once they crossed over into that good night.
The water below muttered its riddles—
promises of silence,
promises of depth.
I answered with a trembling hand,
and the ink ran like a wound.
If anyone finds that final line,
smudged on the page’s edge,
know that it was carved from a truth
I could not carry any farther—
and that the bridge, unbothered,
simply watched me set it down
and walked on.
At 8
At 8 I’d the
most remarkable
growth gush. The baby oak trees were
in awe of
my height and weight. I indulged in
that and
indulged in
towering over, intimidating, anything smaller than
I was. I loved my
pituitary glands though it is
tiny – until it didn’t bother to
increase my
sex hormones. My skill to
concentrate on
countless features in
problems increased. Same thing with
mentally undoing actions. Metalinguistic awareness impressed
foreign objects and
foreign children in
classes. I could easily dwell upon
the use of
English and
their language. I could juggle
language. Many puns, riddles, metaphors because
that was
my hobby while most
played sport. What I got brilliant at was
use of
encoding plans or
approaches of
rehearsal and
organisation. I even had NASA calling, begging, me to
join them, however I
turned them down ... There was a
NO VEGEMITE!!!!!!!! clause in
the contract! Social skills
worsened. Other peoples’ feelings
baffled me, scared me. I hated same and
not same peer
friendships, relationships. Altruism understanding was
poor. The role I took on was
fantasy. I put myself in
too many situations in
my mind. I dreamt of
being a
writer. I needed to
do that for a
living only. Aggression
worsened. Physical aggression mostly. Hardly any
verbal aggression. Hostility was
comfort.
Walking upon silent parched paths,
under speechless scarlet skies.
Your name sits upon the tip of my tongue,
listening to the susurration of my heart.
Each vibration echoes tones of lament,
conflicted by the principles of time.
Adrift in the midst of gladness and sadness,
in a plot without a twist, lost in blackness and slackness,
through turbulent trials, I yearn for you to return.
Distance remains an unknown intangible pain,
but visions of your timid cute brown eyes remain.
How your mouthwatering scent seduced senses.
How your luscious lips dissolved all walled defences.
Now I yearn for queen of my heart to re-appear,
to sleep in each others arms, into the new year.
Adrift in the midst of gladness and sadness,
in a plot without a twist, lost in blackness and slackness,
through turbulent trials, I yearn for you to return.
Without you the mind is misplaced in marshlands,
where intimacy is lost to complex riddles called life.
Under cold ebony skies, your memories flicker like candlelight,
you are the flame, which insulates my heart with devotional delight.
Silent One
26 December 2019
Wanted to experiment with a mix free verse and rhyme.
After contemplating calling it a free verse or rhyme, I settled for lyric.
Maybe an idea for a contest.
Written: June 18, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Robert James Liguori
*****************
In glowing slime, Zoltar coins click and pile,
A silver box for green bills makes him smile.
Its glassy shell goes ticking a tinny refrain—
A zinc gear strikes a copper vein.
The soiled, smeared glass catches my sheen,
A ghost-volt amid grime fuels my adrenaline.
Two unblinking bulbs, too cold and bright,
As I put my money in his slot, it ignited—
Not breathing, not dead—stuck in sterile zones,
A painted mannequin on camphor thrones.
He lifts a hand of yellowed, brittle wax—
His features locked against a smirk’s cracks.
“Press close,” the speaker rasps in rusted mesh,
A synthetic tongue that mimics human flesh.
Static unfurls, within decades of dust—
A fake artifact that begs for your trust.
No prophet stirs inside this iron cage,
No cure to soothe a modern mortal’s rage.
The cipher fails to heal, or serve to cope—
It’s just a camshaft cranking out false hope.
He slams a plastic fortune through the slit,
a card saying I will reap fortune with lousy wit.
I read the inked spectrum of false desire—
While bulbs merge in bright phosphor fire.
I turn away and leave the box behind,
A trap of gears designed to catch the blind.
It whispers riddles to the empty floor—
A Zoltar speaking, stilled, forevermore.
Written: February 24, 2024
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Moonbeams kindle ambrosian dreams
Love evolves on auric gleams
A gem in space, a costly pearl, a Luna
Fetching felicitous feelings, a fervid fawn
In this wassail ethereal area, hearts soar
I was awestruck by the lambent moon
Glittering gems, gilded in dull dust
Vanity surpasses a chimeric spell
A cromulent devotee, in awe
Emerald aureola, blazing high star
Heavenly memoir amphorae
Sew love from words in utter gaze.
Toed moon syntax tonight
In our bucolic spot, love will thrive
We are those who wield abilities of orbs
Sparse straps, splitting stripes
Love outshines crimson swirls
Sapphire adorns translucent tulips
Sturgeon Roe names cast in crystal
Sipping strawberries spoils serene seas
My love infused a porcelain spirit
Sketch my comely soul
Let me breathe your raspy hiccups
Believe me—beyond oblivion
Your Zinnia blooms gambol my heart
Gorgeous, lost in a well-woven nimbus
Fugacious felicity and fluff on fiery flowers
Rising flames, faint shooting, conflict.
Outside orbs offer otherworldly orbits
Deciphering diaphanous riddles
Could night cherubs grasp our grace?
Classic clear cloud cores
A balmy silk breeze hides enigmas
Covered below perseid colors
Your dulcet eyes sparkled dimly
Rose-tuned praise of cyan candidness
Via velvety vintage valleys, vivid verse vests
Beleaguer back the fire of our waltz
The moonlight lifts our mellifluous breath
Dreams soar in tangerine skies.
A riddle, son of Manoah, a riddle are you
Twice came an angel to a barren Danite
Promising rest for Israel, deliverance.
Out of Zorah you came, bold Nazirite
Out of strength came weakness and arrogance.
A riddle, mad suitor, words to rue
Out of Timnah came your honey, your bride.
A weak moment ended a week’s feasting on threats
Murder, your option, the wedding vows subside
Murder for thirty “suits” to cover your bets.
More riddles, cruel judge, more than a few
Your thirst to get even; God’s justice much greater.
Playing sport with fire, a vicious circle of blame,
With a donkey’s jawbone delivering your traitors.
Was your thirst for power or thirst for the game?
Riddles over, Seven Locks, you’ve no clue
For Delilah you flaunted God’s strength as your own.
blinded by her nagging, unaware of your fate;
Blinded by rage, groping in darkness unknown;
Blinded to God, your King. Is this checkmate?
Riddle of all riddles, sightless prisoner, true
Out of grinding in jail, you came and entertained
With insight, you performed centerstage for the town.
Stagecraft was flawless; God’s power you regained;
Samson, the showman, you brought the house down.
December 14, 2019
JJ-7
Contest: Strand's Special 2
Host: Brian Strand