Long Rives Poems

Long Rives Poems. Below are the most popular long Rives by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rives poems by poem length and keyword.


Sestina of Darkness

In answer to all the darkness in every soul
I offer this to the mighty pitiful world
Whose most sagacious few lie blinded by the light
Or some similar god they know does not exist!
Herein now, some thoughts on shimmering hopes ere long
We return to the same strife-filled life we were last!

For the true dreams that life answers seldom outlast
Beyond the duration of any faithless soul
Who had ever struggled on faithfully for long
To accept or change the mighty pitiful world!
For these few are we who ever sought to exist
Under the false rays of some benevolent light.

And though sometimes there are moments of pure sunlight
That promise to never fade and forever last,
(Or promise to become real and really exist!)
Soon enough the bright faith in every faithful soul
Learns to rejoin the faithless, atheistic world
And thank the darkness for not holding back too long!

For faith is weak and bleak, and grief is strong and long,
And each rives and thrives to see darkness smother light!
Still, we seek to find some form of joy in the world
Till we’ve suffered enough and learned again at last
If there is a god who saves any life or soul,
It’s a god who only on Sundays would exist!

Yet, at least, faith and doubt peacefully coexist
(But keep to the realms of belief where they belong!)
Still, if there is anything like a living soul
Who even finds a single ray of faithful light,
He must have found the first of it and not the last,
Let alone some god who long ago fled this world!

So the hell with faith and the whole damned underworld!
Where generations of us still fail to exist!
Some great one of us may hold out until the last
And never ask why the ruse has gone on so long.
To bathe ourselves from time to time in hopeful light;
However false, hides the darkness in every soul.

Just walk the wordless world and watch it roll along.
Let existence exist, but wait for deathless light!
Till death comes at last; and pray that you have a soul.
Form: Sestina


Lacs Italie

Aux lacs italiens

 
         Douce l'italie, ca n'est pas moi qui raillerai jamais tes
amants, méme quand la passion les emportant Bien au contraire,
les exces m'enchantent. Je me rapelle l'enthousiasme de Goethe, qui saluait 
j'usqu' è la poussiere qui couvrait sa voiture. Et J'airavi, été ravi l'autre jour, 
en relisant les dèrnieres pages de son “Voyage en Suisse”, de voir le vieux
Dumas presque divaguer dès que, sur la route du Simplon, les  il sent les prèmieres 
blouffées du vent de Lombardie, dès qu'il apercoit, come cygnes se réchauffant
au soleil, des groupes de maisons blanches, aux toit plats. A meaure qu'il se
rapproche des rives du lac Majeur, son romantisme déborde.
Il salue L'italie, la vicelle reine, la coquette éternelle qui envoi au devant
des voyageurs ses femmes et les fleurs.
 
“Au lieu s'ecrie-t-il, des paysannes gui treuses du Valais, on recontre
a chaque pas de jolies vendangeuses, au teint pale, aux yeux véloutes,
au parler rapide et doux; le ceil est pur, l'air est tiède, st l'on reconnait,
come dit Plutarque, la terre aimèe des dieux, la terre sainte, la terre beureuse
qui les invasions barbares, les discordes civiles n'ont pu dépoullier des dons
qu'elle avait recus du ciel”

      D'ailleurs, exalter l'italie n'est pas denigrer la France; et je pous rai répondre, 
comme le déclare si finement De la Lande, dans la préface de son célebre
“Voyage en Italie” que ce voyage est = le plus agréable et le plus beaux
de tout ceux qu'un Francais pent faire hors de chez lui.

Premium Member Tale of the Halted

*Image of Ready to Break by UCA.

Tale of the Halted

'Tis be a day of echo
and with it, the result
preys on the lips to no 
end, the uncontrolled 
tongues hast lain in
plain sight of held shame
and clumsy splits stewing
in a devil's brew.

Fire musters the envious
their claim and precious 
bans a quick ambition
to an embellish sheen,
their feigned embrace 
traces honey as blood 
parts sapped mettle, a
fusion of scraps from 
an enigmatic ex.

Now blesseth truths
burns their brittle fibrous
habitats, for they etch
their soul's in the ashes
and wallow in the vague
ambiguity of last night's
light show and be as much
the reason for claims
that themselves never
hast happened.

Natheless, they'd be none
the grander e'er seen, be
they runaway wanderers,
all unconscious, kinetics
empower their motions
as the fire that bred their
souls, hast petered out.
 
Yet, no need for flames,
as it has been called out, 
'tis duel works in passing,
an uplift streak sparingly
made a dart for life to
unleash its hold and give
the halted birth a soul.

It rives steadily, yanks 
at the skinned that
detains its pledge,
abrupts suddenly, and
sanctioned to live.

Enters the settler, an
embedded phase
replete annals done
sheaths an escape
with a glow so soft
though shields the
inevitable its moral
claim to be realized
and resist the deniers'
reclamation and their
rumored tales that
made their spark
ignite.

2019 September 17
© Hilo Poet  Create an image from this poem.

Estosha

Estosha 
(Great white place)

Many have heard but few have seen
The beauty that lies with the heart of Africa
It folks, falls, flora, wildness life, wildness animals, lakes, rives, 
This is a place with the strength of a lion and flies as an eagle
Primitive and naïve is not in our vocabulary-cultural identity
Our dressing speaks of our roots, environment and pride 
Come and experience our greatness in the Estosha National Park

I am built stronger as the lion and taller to see my future as the giraffe
I am built to stand the waves of life as the crocodile – so beautiful
I am built with powerful vision just as an eagle-to see beyond my failures
I am built as wise as the cobra and humble as the dove – hilarious
I am built with a large heart for forgive – hefty heart, big as elephant 
I am built with strength in hands as the horns of a buffalo – splendor 
Come and experience our greatness in the Estosha National Park

We are people of all colors, cultures but communion in one as chameleons
We are people and place of peace, pleasure and leisure -  Etosha
We are people of attitude of gratitude and as multitude as springbok 
We are people pleasers; I am black with white heart- the beauty of zebra 
We are people that can survive in the draught-the power of Oryx
We are people with dark skin as the rich soil of Africa, dark as impalas
Come and experience our greatness in the Estosha National Park
Form: Acrostic

Sound the Gong For the River

Sound the gong
O ye poetic comrades! 
Heralding the seventieth year of the River 
Play the flute
O ye poetic comrades!
A symphony of moving waters.

As the river flows, not withstanding
Its stage of life into craving streams
So does of the poetic life of Lindsay Barrett
Flows into the open hearts of juvenile poets
Making classics out of their juvenilia				

Lindsay Barrett is the River
Making streams from the belly of juveniles.

Sound the gong
O ye comrades!
Lindsay Barrett is the River that sups with
The Ocean for poetic genius
He knows the Ocean

This River has traveled afar 
He has sojourned forty five years in west Africa!

Sound the gong
O ye poetic comrades
The River knows the Ocean
For the river is seventy today.

This River has a favorite song;The ***** Speaks of Rivers
And this song is from a beloved departed Ocean
Departed ocean?
Langston Hughes is the departed Ocean
Departed out of our sight,but his memory
shall live on in our hearts;

''I've known rives
I've known rives ancient as
The world and older than the flow
Of human blood in human veins 
My soul has grown deep like the rivers''

Sound the gong
O ye poetic comrades!
Poetic streams; children of Lindsay Barrett  
Sound the gong 
O ye poetic comrades!
For the river is seventy today! 

Happy Birthday Daddy! 

15/9/2011


The Great Replacement

The great replacement 

 Through the bird’s world came the call of a land of plenty
rives, mountains, lakes and plains place for everyone
Millions flew to this Paradise, but mostly sparrows settling
inland where the wild oats were plentiful
Vultures came, eradicated the local birds, and nothing left
but paintings of birds with colourful plumage.
Raven, the incurable thief, occupied coastal march land
to get powerful, stealing a wonderful feather at a time.
The eagle took position on the highest peak, aristocratic 
showed, contempt for the lesser sparrows.
Until, a powerful, rich bird with flamboyant plumage
showed up and together, with the ravens, promised safety
for the lesser fowls and the negligible ones rejoiced they 
didn’t know they were pawns in a much bigger power play.
© Jan Hansen  Create an image from this poem.

A River Flows

A river in an African deep jungle,
They saw you and me as foreigners
when we decided to throw our selves 
beneath the waters with our clothes on. 
We let our waves of thoughts
get us wet, 
and spoke the truth to each other
without words. 
We smiled and shed some tears,
we held each other,
and never touched the ground.
We dived into the warmth,
and touched transparency….

They always lived here
and never noticed 
that dreams are found 
within their reach. 
The rives runs,
Its warmth is infinite,
and yet for them
its cold and still.
We had a dream,
and they had none.
Our dream is true
and who should know
if they would see,
our dream as theirs,
or just one day
create their own,
and see the way
their river  flows…

Sharp Knife

I hide in a celom of a Langur when it sleeps,
In the shadow of a burl at the door of a temple,
I - a knotted clunker rolling ever so slowly
In the corner of the brotherhood of wreck,
I - holed up as a squirrel in the barrel
Of a hunter’s rusty shot-gun
The one without a shell.
The one no one wants to touch!
I have been dusting away under a fallen church bell.

A whiz of an incoming pendulum
Rives and cleaves all the past Moons
And any pollen in the moonlight
That may impregnate her before my eyes
Unwell thoughts of an unwell being, said he
Who has been recommended to heal me
Through this virtual box in the circus of life
I sure hear, and I sure work my tongue
Along the blade - a sharp knife!

Premium Member To My Brother..A Letter Poem

H ow can I tell you, how amazing you are?
A little brother, a brat, a
N uisance, who has a heart of gold.
S oft and mushy under a

G ruff exterior...not at all
U nlike his father.
S trong, faithful, devoted to family,
T rusting to a fault
A lways quick to smile, to share a laugh, your
V ivacious spirit is infectious,

L eaving laughter, warmth, compassion, and
L ove where ever you go. Even when you’re being
O bnoxious,
Y ou still steal my heart. It 
D rives me crazy when you’re not happy.

M emories of you playing Cheetah
E ver the caretaker, devoted and loving in
Y outh to adulthood. You’ve grown before my
E yes into an astounding man’
R eminiscent of the men whose names you bear.
Form: Acrostic

Premium Member Some Laughter

give me not the time of day
for my time is set to fade
dreams surreal into the realm
i live as if i'm alone on film

kiss me not upon my lips
shun me from your tenderness
against the dawn the dusk does prowl
i taste of then and swallow now

my body dies but my mind lives
my soul succumbs as my spirit rives
into the dark i seek the light
with wings of angels i lean to flight

red the earth and blue the wet
my brain awake is my body slept
peace my pain bleeds into the earth
tears so blue wet my souls rebirth

love me with your heart not your soul
live for life and let me go
once was before now is forever after
for each tear promise a smile and some laughter
Form: Rhyme

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