Long Rime Poems
Long Rime Poems. Below are the most popular long Rime by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rime poems by poem length and keyword.
Off and on, I feel lonesome, can't arise.
I'm in such pain surfeit, can't drowse.
Rolling aside sweeps hurl, toss on the side.
Drop to my knees, leak why I have cried.
Cipher on this planet appeals to me.
Constantly on the stand for the story.
A sapped shell is all that is left empty.
Deserve the sign that dwells is ready.
My heart weeps for your insight.
And your unwavering devotion.
I was ecstatic when left late at night.
And refrain from refuting to any notion.
Or a flower will bud in life's greenery.
Keep your head apart from scenery.
Written: February 18, 2022
A Brian Strand Rime Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
MIRACLE
Instructions of my Dad was priority.
He was my idol, philosopher-and guide.
Miraculously got opportunity
identifying myself really redefined.
My father’s Colloquium arranged at best.
Memorial Hall on Inauguration
Everything formerly scheduled and well set.
No scope for my active participation.
Felt earnest urge to speak from core of my heart.
I wrote about his works when he was alive.
I must pay tribute and honor on my part.
I had ventured on extempore speech to give.
On my own performance I got astonished.
Short, speedy, attractive speech to present Dad.
Instant Tie bet Dad and I was established.
Forgotten fact just mysteriously flashed.
I recollected, in my Dad’s Cloud Chamber,
forty years back I worked and was much surprised
to find me as only one in seminar
once worked in his project and was mesmerized.
Overwhelmed on pure pristine placid perception
of strong divine bond with my Late father.
Spoke as if guided on his illustration.
Discovered me as true inheritor rather.
Existence of soul illuminated my mind.
Eager Souls capable to communicate
even on erased memories to rewind.
Rhythms of emotive souls can resonate.
01/10/16
Re-edited on 08/19/ 21
First Place
'A Brian Strand rime
Contest by Brian Strand
*Image of Love Pairs Two by Pixabay.
When Love Was Paired To Blossom
When love was paired to blossom,
'twas lost words in a song,
Oaths and dreams didst fill the air,
'tis distance true and long,
Thus foolproof days fleet away,
September launched to June,
Paired love hath cared to blossom,
pray two 'tis best be soon.
When love was paired to blossom,
petals had strewn its ground,
Barren branch stretched on its own,
flowers no longer bound,
Time nor nature's caused compelled,
wither welts take its tolls,
Love that was paired to blossom,
adorns entombed paired souls.
2022 February 11
*1st Place*
A BRIAN STRAND RIME
~~Brian Strand: Judged 2022 February 22
Oh, to read 'em now,
those writings on the wall,
poems, parodies of Poe and Pound,
stuck there with jam, back then.
Ah then! Carefree and footloose,
students of literature and art!
Life was so easy. we didn't care a bit.
(I had a reason not to make a rime).
Bob wrote fatuous lines about some man
"who flitted from corner to corner
of his misspent life" How apt.
Back then! We mocked both Heaven and Hell!
Then Bob's just broken-off engagement ring,
melted down, drip-drip, till nought was left
but some base alloy black and drab.
Bob talked to some imp, (or was it Puck?)
perched where walls and ceiling meet,
He said he did, who cares that much.
(I had a reason not to make a rime).
We mocked life, now life mocks us.
To read 'em now, those writings on the wall!
Age is not all decay; it is the ripening, the swelling, of the fresh life within, that withers and bursts the husk. George MacDonald
_____________________________________________________________
In a world where decay is dominant,
Arctic tundra is melting, and envy is prominent.
Friendship withered away with the lapse of time,
Moon gapes at all facts and truths, concomitant.
We jive in death-cool air and chime,
Where dreams and hopes start to climb.
As though molehills faded into the grass,
Rapture rain has turned into melting rime.
In a place where the sky spills tears of brass,
And the howling winds bestow a deafening bass.
We lingered in the natural ephemeral support,
Behind the murky cloud of the ebbing mass
Our bond, however, was not flexible to contort,
Cyclic in the way that orchestral drums distort.
We carried out a solemn pledge on the floor,
In divine draughts, brambles flood the report.
The Meadow Brook gave us richness galore,
Black valleys where floods shred and roar?
We could not deny such a reservoir of devotion,
As with the wilting branches and dwindling door.
Our bonds faded, plagued by wide demotion,
Secrets below the land, a flurry of blades of notion.
In a world where deterioration prevails supreme,
Time and distance cast a curtain on our emotions.
But even amid such decay, there is a dream,
Darkening and drooping, we creep and esteem.
With the truth that humanity may split and slope,
Crows chirp as they drop twigs and scream.
While passing across acrid rings of mope,
Our ties are fraying. Teach me how to hope.
It shines brightly behind the gloomy overlay,
A dazzling beacon in the depths to grope.
In this universe of inexorable decay,
We acquire courage with each raw day.
With percussive pulses of love and delight,
Our ties will last for a span we cannot deny.
In a world where decay holds its might,
We defy its grasp, shining with an inner light.
Through the drills and tribulations we face,
Whatever embers burn our ego and sight.
Will you come to the great tamarind’s shade
When the noon sun sends cupid with its rays
To play hide and seek with every grass blade
I watch the path with a relentless gaze
Come my love for the world is in a daze
Wear not your anklets as you come my dear
Walk in discreet silence come have no fear
Will you come to the quick footed river
When the full moon lamp is vividly lit
yet in the clouds it seems to disappear
my feet in stream, I shall silently sit
holding a long bamboo flute to my lips
wear not jhumkas tonight, they interfere
with the tune I play only for your ears
Will you come to that broken bullock cart
when dusk lowers its veil down to the field
we shall then talk of matters of the heart
and bite gently into sugar cane's yield
till our lips meet in love and softly sealed
Wear not your coyness leave it far behind
A heart full of love you will surely find.
*jhumkas are long bell shaped earrings often worn by women in the Indian countryside.
Afroze
For 'Romanticism in rime Royal'
There's a chill in the mornin' air as autumn in Vermont unfolds.
Splendor is revealed as trees assume their cloaks of reds and golds!
Fodder shocks gleam in the risin' sun and 'punkins' sport a tinge of rime.
Crimson and yellow apples are ready for pickin' havin' reached their prime!
In yon vale peekin' above the mornin' mists shines the steeple of a church,
Towerin' above the riot of color of its guardian trees and a grove of birch!
Skeins of snow geese wingin' southward grace the pristine sky.
The serenity of the autumn morn is shattered by their plaintive cry!
'Tis syrup renderin' time as maple trees surrender their free-flowin' sap.
Their hardy boles again withstand the trauma of an annual 'spinal' tap!
Apples are 'pressed into service' to make cider for sippin' by a cozy blaze,
As folks gather on winter eves to reminisce about the good ol' days!
Crusts of ice begin to form on streams flowin' 'neath covered bridges.
A dustin' of snow is tinted by the dawnin' sun on the yonder ridges!
Along country lanes the sun casts its mellow glow in the late afternoon.
On moonlit nights majestic stags are silhouetted against the harvest moon!
Families bundle up against the chill to enjoy hayrides and wiener roasts,
And toast marshmallows over a roarin' fire and tell of lurkin' ghosts!
An Indian summer is welcomed - the comin' winter gales it will delay.
Autumn in Vermont is more spectacular than even Mr. Rockwell could portray!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Asagao (Morning Glory)
Forget me not in the night
When petals shrivel without light.
I will bloom morning glories
In sapphire colours, blue and fancy.
Forget me not come autumn rime
When the vines cease to climb.
Worry not o’er winter clime
Below the snow; I survive.
Wait for me in spring, Asagao,
And as in days before the cold,
From whence comes summer,
I will display morning glories once again.
***
Note:
When a sapphire is blue, it is called a sapphire; when a sapphire is red, it is called a ruby. All other sapphire-coloured gemstones are known as “fancy sapphires.” If no colour is present, it is called a white sapphire. Forget-me-nots, asters, and morning glories are the representative flowers for the month of September. Morning glories bloom daily during the mornings and die in the evenings from early summer to the first frost of autumn. Asagao (morning glory) is a very popular flower in Japan and is a Japanese girl’s name meaning “face in the morning.”
Alone, alone, all, all alone
Alone on a wide wide sea!
And never a saint took pity on
My soul in agony.
—Samuel Taylor Coleridge, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner
Rime and Reason I Shall Not
Rime and reason I shall not wonder about,
but the wonders of the sea and its wandering.
I zip in quickly, unzip these Coleridge lines.
I’m all alone as I wander and wonder about.
How pitiable we are as we seek pity,
a pittance of our inside-outs, our doubts.
A whirlwind of living dances about,
in one’s unparalleled walkabout.
All alone in the fog - how does no one else
fathom-see the endless waves of gravity.
Like a lasso-chain about one’s ankles,
heart, lips, mind, emotions; the mourner’s trip.
After, all the battles of cancer are history,
I’m hanging onto Queequeg’s coffin,*
that ebbs in things gone by and flows
with tears that steer my little lost ship,
Rime and reason shared, a lot, and rocks
the boat. Inevitability of solitude in one’s thoughts.
Your hand grips the phone to reach out
but ultimately you phantom-float, and drift.
Sam says “never a saint took pity on…”
The answers are not found. You have to beat
the imagery to death. You end up back in the room
more than the hospice worker, where walls are bright.
The waves close in. Its eyes blank stare
and circle about. You find the smallest details
and ruminate as family fill in the blanks.
You pick each herring up, as if their death’s your fault.
Others take credit for what you know you did
and you question and doubt what you perceive.
All alone on the mourner’s island. It’s not pretty.
But you’ve joined the club, your only solace.
When you’ve picked the scene to death,
like a bird eats his prey, you leave it all,
all alone. The memories are stored away.
Those memories, real or imagined.
Summer Quatrains – Swap Quatrains 6-19-24
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Summer Quatrains
Silk ribbons of ice melt into wellsprings
With jubilant serenades, heartfelt,
Frozen heartbeats freed from rime flow on wings
Into wellsprings silk ribbons of ice melt.
The brooding nimbus bows to solstice’ clouds
Dandelion days doze in clover now
As the Dayspring moon chants reveries out loud
To solstice’ clouds the brooding nimbus bows.
The rumpled season rides on wings of change,
Dancing in the ether where dreams abide,
Somersaults o’re a wishing star’s exchange
On wings of change the rumpled season rides.
In summer’s sunlight winter’s rose arises
Past the melancholy veils of dark starlight
Opens silky buds, rapture’s surprises,
Winter’s rose arises in summer sunlight.