Long Rivalry Poems
Long Rivalry Poems. Below are the most popular long Rivalry by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rivalry poems by poem length and keyword.
Saturday, February the 14th of the year 2015
It's no Valentine's Day in the Great White North
It's the big Hockey Night in Canada
And to these fans, it's a night of epic rivalry
Saturday nights with the blue and white
Trying to play with all their might
Saturday nights with le bleu, blanc, et rouge
Trying to play all the way through
When the moment the puck drops,
A person's normal heartbeat stops
When the instant the puck hits the ice,
A rival's heartbeat is anything but nice
Toronto Maple Leafs - the long shot team
Will bring their honor to battle for this rivalry
Montréal Canadiens - the big shot team
Will bring their torch to burn on this rivalry
Two teams will battle for a victory right
Only one team will have victory upon being loyal
As for this Valentine's Day hockey night
There will be no love in Montreal
In London’s gaslit, art-enamoured scene,
Lived two great wits, with egos sharp and keen.
The Painter James, with monocle and cane,
The Poet Wilde, who found in art no pain,
But only beauty, in a world mundane.
They vied for notice, ‘midst the social whirl,
Two shining stars, one butterfly, one pearl.
Their row, half-feigned for the public’s gay delight,
Was a rap contest in the fading light,
A friendly jousting for the bon mot’s might.
Whistler speaks, "Au cobtraire, you!"
“Now Oscar, pray, observe my ‘Nocturne’ blue,
A symphony in tone, a vision true.
No moral burden, no heavy, social plea,
Just ‘Art for Art’s Sake,’ for the world to see.”
Wilde retorts articulately:
“Your art, dear Jimmy, is a lovely thing,
A shell where the ocean’s music seems to sing.
But tell me, James, without a hint of ire,
When you paint nature, do you find desire?
Or just a canvas for your genius’ fire?”
Whistler snaps back, playing a lyre:
“Nature, my boy, is usually wrong!
She’s seldom perfect and does not last for long.
I merely help her, lend a guiding hand,
To make her beauty understood, and grand.”
Wilde replies, with a theatrical strand:
“I wish, dear James, that I had said that line!”
Whistler’s eyes, with mock-offence, do shine:
“You will, good Oscar, you will, in your time!”
A stinging jest, a hint of plagiarism’s dart,
Which Oscar parried, with his usual art.
The playful jousting became a la carte,
Their friendship ended on bit of a bitter notary.
Whistler complained his ideas were filched away,
That Wilde had stolen his dandyish display.
He called him “middleman,” a critic, not an artistian,
Wilde, in return, called Whistler an “ill-bred” person,
A “venerable impostor,” to make the matter worsen.
The battle moved to newspapers, bold and crass,
Their lively letters, a gift to the masses.
“When you and I are together,” Wilde did opine,
“We talk of nothing but ourselves, I find.”
“No, no, dear Oscar,” Whistler quickly wrote,
“When we’re together, we talk of me, note!”
A final jab, a rivalry complete,
The war of wits, a well-known, public feat.
Wilde had the last word in his novel, Dorian Gray,
Where the murdered artist had his little say.
Their rivalry remembered, for the wit they shared,
Two sparkling egos, gloriously paired.
A rainbow or counterflow … symmetry,
Time marks a question measured to wrangle,
Quantity taxes or pay quality.
First, the chick or egg, begs the novelty,
Harmony and anarchy vie tango,
A rainbow or counterflow … symmetry.
Highs and lows, trials on trails that Odyssey,
Couples meet ... kneels, and fingers … betrothal,
Quantity taxes or pay quality.
Germane proportionate necessity,
Bidders will empowerment substantial,
A rainbow or counterflow … symmetry.
Blind contends, an object than rivalry,
A contest midst, wins or lose, a gamble,
Quantity taxes or pay quality.
Observant confident, sees victory,
The keenly bid, competitors scramble,
A rainbow or counterflow … symmetry.
Won prize stashed, slips by geniality,
Bewildered notes calm, auctioneer’s gavel,
Quantity taxes or pay quality,
A rainbow or counterflow … symmetry.
Before spring came, in late February
to the blooming and jolly hills
I ran, breathing heavily and frantically,
touching the perfumed blossoms
of a solitary, old cherry tree;
and underneath it I sat writing poetry
that hadn't a perfect rhyme and beat!
Weren't my skills marred by imperfections?
Canaries and red-breasted robins
flew down and rested on my outstretched legs;
perusing my lines to spot their names,
and when they did, they flapped their wings in gladness!
I could have imagined their joyful words,.
if only they had acquired the gift of speech,
and deeper in their thoughts I would have reached:
to dispel the myth that they had no feelings...
After my short poem was completed,
I reached for my harmonica to play my favorite classic tune;
and being surprised by the paleness of the fading moon,
I dedicated that happy melody to her not to let her despair:
by waving my hand to make her farewell less sad, while I whispered,
" Silent moon, eternal companion of every poet,
what's beyond the realm of this universe?...
Tell us more of those invisible suns and planets! "
Before spring came to the dormant valley,
the mountains' peaks allowed the sun to melt their snows,
to create gushing torrents to feed its water to the dry and cracked soil,
which needed rain instead of harmful frost;
and I drank the freshest water and washed my sweaty face,
while fighting off the bees' stubborn rivalry!
That spring has come again to dress herself with incredible splendor,
and this discontent and wishful heart desires nothing more than being there!
My theme is: Happiness In Childhood
It’s said the great Michaelangelo
had considered himself as a foe
to a rival of his.
You should know who this is -
Da Vinci, the great Leonardo!
So why would the one so dislike
the other? I bet as a tyke
Michaelangelo would
tell his foe, if he could:
“You’re a dreamer, so go take a hike!”
Yes, a dreamer was popular Leo,
and he did all his artwork so slow.
he’d finish so little
that here is the riddle:
Why did everyone like that guy so?
While Michael was giving his all,
Leo faltered and then he would stall.
A mural he tried,
changed the paint and got fried.
The guy could not finish a wall!
Michaelangelo worked like a slave.
To the world a great chapel he gave.
While Da Vinci would play
with his rich friends all day,
Michael worked himself into the grave!
For Marugu Mo's Contest: Historical rivalry-Part 1- Leonardo vs Michaelangelo
I came into this beautiful world,
The reason is love.
That selfless love and parent’s Devotion,
The reason is love.
Appease or Persuade, Jealousy and Dispute,
The reason is love.
Love for money, love for honey, name and for fame, love for kin, love for friend, every thrive and every drive..Love, Yes! Love is the reason behind every game!
Infatuation though momentary,
The reason is love.
Friendship, Hatred, Competition and even Cooperation,
The reason is love.
Rivalry, Loyalty and Betrayal, Blessings and Abuses,
The reason is love.
Love for money, love for honey, name and for fame, love for kin, love for friend, every thrive and every drive..Love, Yes! Love is the reason behind every game!
Strength and Courage, Sacrifices and Surrender or Destruction,
The reason is love.
Aspiration, Passion and Dedication,
The reason is love.
Flounders, Contentment and Depression,
The reason is love.
Love for money, love for honey, name and for fame, love for kin, love for friend, every thrive and every drive..Love, Yes! Love is the reason behind every game!
Pain and Relief, Triumph and Defeat,
The reason is love.
Death and Reincarnation,
The reason is love.
Love for money, love for honey, name and for fame, love for kin, love for friend, every thirst and every quench..Love, Yes! Love is the reason behind every game!
14/03/2019
A Penn Valley phantom appears to haunt and lurk
premises at 1148 Greentree Lane
his youngest daughter (Abby) I pledged my troth and, natch won my Zison’s
Dunkirk
ire and vindictiveness akin to rivalry of Abel versus Cain
now breeds and festers hallucinations that make me go berserk
also brings to mind myth of another named King Canute, a Great Dane
whose battle cry and hymn of the Republic made manifest with ease of dirk
visitations with ethereal sprite pushes me to madness and makes me go
insane
torture treatment mangles mental management amidst mire and murk!
The rattle of chains heard despite noiseless apparition and wraith, which curse
and bain
from dark and sinister shadows make me feel like a jerk
at such fallacious belief in preternatural imaginative creations ranked as inane
by this skeptic whose vulnerable acuteness to otherworldly visages does perk
especially during wee hours of morning when superstition runs amuck and
seems to gain
upper hand and let spiral out of rational control thought of afterlife quirk
yet confession must be made that long dead father of wife does wag finger of
disdain
and utter silent disapproval and near ruination by marrying a bum of a guy who
lacks for work!
another day
another squabble
between kids siblings
trying to be a first
for everything.
who gets to hug mommy goodbye.
who gets to sit on daddy's lap.
who gets to brush their pearly whites early morn'
who gets to play with the teddy bear.
who should get a bigger slice of whatever pie.
who gets what gift from Santa,
etc., etc.
mom and dad simultaneously
referee and pull their hairs out
in frustration.
Date written: 12/24/2021
So nice and sweet to remember
Playing with my younger brother
With mom’s constant reminder
To be a good sibling and sister-
As his older sister, she said
Learn to give way, instead
If his mood turns flaring red
Wait patiently, don’t go to bed.
Hug him and speak softly
Share and show fairness lovingly
Use magic words, act humbly
He’ll definitely follow, learns slowly.
Mom’s teachings were effective
No rivalry, rapport was highly achieved
Siblings’ closeness bloomed, heaved
But he passed away so early, I grieved.
If I disobeyed and remained stubborn
He didn’t enjoy life with me…so forlorn
No strong bonds, fun, travels and so on
No joyful memories with loved ones.
In loving memory of a legend deeply missed
Taken 2 soon which gets me pi##ed
The best musician in lifes childhood
Highly misunderstood by ignorant do goods
Wrongly accused of so many crimes
Punished for speakin up so many times
The envy of so many wannabes
My inspiration to write with ease
I grew up with your music and screen shows
Feels like I knew you well although
We never met it frustrates me so
That I cannot tell you your my hero
I honestly think biggee was a true friend
And he had nothing 2 do with your first assassination atempt
But puffy on the other hand is sly
And I think he'd do anythin 2 get by
So many rumours that you didn't die
But I know different and I'll explain why
On that fateful september night in vegas
You seen your shooter as he passed
And you wouldn't go and hide away my friend
You'd write a song explaining revenge
No-one could silence the legend of 2pac
The only way in life is 2 hit back
Suge was the problem in the wars
A selfish manipulator lower than the floor
Should have left with dre when you had the chance
You could still be here making everyone dance
I think the rivalry was between suge and puff
You and biggee was dragged into that fuss
It was puffy that instigated that vegas night
The target suge was in the sights
You should have stayed with iron mike
That was the chance 2 put everything right
Biggee should have laid low for a while
Or until suge was put in jail
Coz when he set foot on westside soil
Suge's revenge plan uncoiled
A small handful of artist started an epic genre called rap
Most influential is the 1 and only 2pac
We miss you makaveli the don
In your music you live on