Long Roar Poems
Long Roar Poems. Below are the most popular long Roar by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Roar poems by poem length and keyword.
(Inspired by Abe Lincoln’s poem “Memory”)
Mortality's Own Friend
So sadly here, among the dead,
I live - mortality's own friend.
Recalling all that's lost, I tread
so sadly here, among the dead.
Sweet memories are as a thread
which link the living to their end.
So sadly here, among the dead,
I live - mortality's own friend.
Here is Abraham Lincoln's "Memory," which really speaks to me
(I could not get it to copy/paste from here to the box above:
Memory
by Abraham Lincoln (1809-1865)
My childhood’s home I see again,
And sadden with the view;
And still, as memory crowds my brain,
There’s pleasure in it, too.
O memory! thou midway world
’Twixt earth and paradise,
Where things decayed and loved ones lost
In dreamy shadows rise,
And, freed from all that’s earthly, vile,
Seem hallowed, pure and bright,
Like scenes in some enchanted isle
All bathed in liquid light.
As dusky mountains please the eye
When twilight chases day;
As bugle notes that, passing by,
In distance die away;
As leaving some grand waterfall,
We, lingering, list its roar --
So memory will hallow all
We’ve known but know no more.
Near twenty years have passed away
Since here I bid farewell
To woods and fields, and scenes of play,
And playmates loved so well.
The friends I left that parting day
How changed, as time has sped!
Young childhood grown, strong manhood gray;
And half of all are dead.
I hear the loved survivors tell
How nought from death could save,
Till every sound appears a knell
And every spot a grave.
I range the fields with pensive tread,
And pace the hollow rooms,
And feel (companion of the dead)
I’m living in the tombs.
The war on women is half the reason we are in this mess,*
our earth systems failing our societal descent, as men
divide and conquer women gather and tend. Our garden
set for reaping and a great divide to mend.
the brand the new roar
roaring twenties women rocking~
a rolling no more
*Religion offers a palpable sense of peace and purpose
and however God exists religion itself is a man made
construct too often used to control women.
When I lost my faith in Catholicism, I didn’t lose God,
I fell more in love with my world.
They were only sitting.
Nothing heroic.
Nothing loud.
But quiet does not mean calm.
Inside her chest
a tide was rising—
thick with unsaid things,
heavy with days she carried alone.
Inside him too
another ocean pressed forward,
deep with storms,
deep with the weight of breathing through life.
Two oceans.
Two pressures.
Two restless waves.
Then—
her fingers brushed his.
Soft.
Curious.
Electric.
His hand answered,
closing around hers slowly—
like gravity remembering its work.
And when their fingers locked,
the tides began to move.
Her wave rushing forward.
His wave rushing back.
Faster.
Closer.
Stronger.
Eyes meeting.
Breath warming the small space between them.
His thumb tracing the quiet warmth of her hand.
Her pulse answering beneath his touch.
Two storms leaning nearer.
Until their foreheads touched—
and the waves collided.
Not to destroy.
Not to break.
But to intertwine.
His arm finding her waist.
Her fingers curling into his sleeve.
The pressure inside their chests
rising—
rising—
rising—
until their lips finally met.
And suddenly
the oceans forgot how to roar.
No one could tell
which wave was hers
and which was his anymore.
Only warmth.
Only breath.
Only the quiet rhythm
of two storms resting together.
And in that impossible calm,
between one heartbeat
and the next—
two waves,
two storms,
two restless seas…
finally learning
the rhythm
of one ocean.
Boom ....boom....boom
Guns roar, bombs blast, causing
death, deformity and destruction,
leading to distress and doom.
Streets reek with the smell of newly shed blood.
Dead bodies pile, all around is carnage.
Dark clouds hang on the horizon
In one name or other, violence is concocted.
Frivolous ideologies kill lives of innocents
with the world turning into a battlefield,
We are besieged by terror's sting.
We need an escape from this inferno.
Pure harmony is what the world longs for.
Let no cannons roar, let no rebellion shriek
Let no wounded soldier fall down and die
Let no woman become a widow, no child- an orphan
Let no drop of blood spill on the cobalt streets
Paint the canvas in colors of love and kindness.
Strive to build a land of peace-
Peace is an energy field much more potent than a battlefield
Is peace merely the absence of war?
No, it is a tranquil feeling in the breast,
the absence of fear, an all encompassing aura of safety
the annihilation of prejudices and a tight knot of oneness
It is being in peace with oneself and others!
Hope this calming dream and lovely fancy
of mine shall no more remain a wild fantasy
Energy zones
Assigned meanings
Take for instance Bindu
Wherefrom bliss nectar flows
And yet on polarity balance
Attributes are replicated
Across all our nodes
Like a hologram
All cells entwined
And yet independent
Pulsate in perfect rhythm
And when bliss chooses to roar
The heightened rapture is resisted
As the instinct for survival intervenes
Unable to readily accept new highs
So offered resistance prevents
Our transmutation as light
Completion put on hold
For the time being
But no matter
Humming bliss
Renewing its purring
Holds us in tight embrace
In a continuum of vibrant stillness
13-December-2022
clouds like sheep
grazing in the blue
scatter on the breeze
How marvelous was the first week of March in my state. The temperatures exceeded my hopeful expectations. If the old proverb is true, perhaps this month will go out with a lion’s roar, for I’m pretty sure it came in with the bleat of a lamb! Daylight Saving time also has arrived along with St. Patrick’s Day and the wearing of the green, and Easter and our Mother’s Day will follow. The day I most look forward to, however, is that day which turns my front yard into a bright fiesta. Right around the end of week one or two of April, my ornamental pear and plum trees always undergo their annual transformation.
pear tree’s white petals
pearlescent in the sun . . .
plum tree’s blush
Yes, each April it never fails to amaze me: nature’s orderly sequence of events which so beautifully welcome spring’s warmth. Birds whose nests are so well-hidden in each tree’s branches will decorate my yard with their flashes of color as they soar to the sky and then flit among the leaves of their new-found home. I enjoy catching glimpses of the swallows’ shiny dark wings and the red of the robin and of the occasional cardinal. Even more special are sudden glimpses of bluebirds and hummingbirds that I rarely get to see! These sightings so excite me!
lion or lamb -
spring turns me into
an April fool
March 21, 2021
for the Springtime Haibun Contest Poetry Contest of M. L. Kiser
Now for Brian Strand's 'ALL YOURS (Apr 12)' Poetry Contest
The leaves are falling, the temperature is dropping
My spirit is stalling, my passion is stopping
Who can save me from myself?
Who will be there to help?
I have fallen down, and the weight of the world is upon me
I cannot lift in on my own, for it is far too heavy
Who will come and give me a hand
Who is strong enough to stand?
To carry the human race
To experience His grace
For too long now, I have been trying
But slowly my soul has been dying
Because I am not enough on my own
I was not designed to go it alone
I cannot be a one man army
So I ask for those with a heart
For a dying and broken world
To join me in a new start
Does anyone hear a small hungry child?
Over the sound of a dinner feast
Can anyone hear the roar of a bomber plane?
Over the sound of a new car engine
Does anyone feel the hurricanes destruction?
More than the light breeze of the ceiling fan
Do rags and tattered clothes grab your attention?
Before you buy a new name brand outfit
If you hear and see and feel these things
And it is more important to you than your things
Then come with me, let’s go to the broken
Set the captives free, I am not jokin'
Open your eyes and see
There is a world full of trouble
A world full of hurt
So let’s get out of our bubble
And jump in the dirt
Chorus x 2
It’s okay if my ego wears jacket
it’s nice if my resume plays drums
I’m endowed, dazzling and full
so let the world know my hands are a major part
of those holding it.
1. A personality that is a well powered Agora
for affluence and power to trade
from collar to ankle, my long covering is embroidered
with stitches of laurels
as life’s willy, I stand against nature’s passive resistance
educated beyond satisfaction
as I neither drink the slurry of poverty
nor condemned in the scaffold of barbarism.
The depth of my influence
surpasses the borders of space
the slideshow of my worth stays not reclusive
as my path has gone beyond fate
to put fortune under no quandary to visiting me.
Chorus
It’s okay if my ego wears jacket
it’s nice if my resume plays drums
I’m endowed, dazzling and full
so let the world know my hands are a major part
of those holding it.
2. There is no contest
to my flag standing highest and brightest
yet my blessings still feel reclusive
my known image will stand collateral for global peace.
Media houses even in the desert
roar in a moving tempest of my reputation
yet not half the needed depth is achieved.
My commanding drive and intimidating leadership
the first education to all newborns
I am a feather bed to all my networks
even in the grave, my decaying bones
will be worth more than the basilicas of ancient Europe.
Chorus
It’s okay if my ego wears jacket
it’s nice if my resume plays drums
I’m endowed, dazzling and full
so let the world know my hands are a major part
of those holding it.
3. Stronger and continuously refined I am
as I stand on top
and drink the revile, like old wine
of those who wish to live in forgery of me
the air is tagged with my trademark
as communities mimic
from the chronicles and sweeteners of my exploits.
The sun rises from my past
to reiterate a future covered with curtains
of red silk and exotic flowers.
Down the stairs to a panhandler is stupid
but my pride can wear an Asian salwar
rather than an Italian blazer
yet, fully satisfied to cling
unto the appendages of God’s glory.
Chorus
It’s okay if my ego wears jacket
it’s nice if my resume plays drums
I’m endowed, dazzling and full
so let the world know my hands are a major part
of those holding it.
Quote: And the tree said to the wind: “Leaf me alone!” -- unknown
I am the invisible wind, always present but never seen
I'm not just a void; I can be gentle, whispering songs through leaves
I carry the sorrows of parted lovers across great distances
But I'm not always gentle. raising tornadoes, leaving destruction in my wake
In fields of gold, I move gracefully, causing waves of wheat to dance
The fragrance of flowers is mine to carry, intoxicating all in my path
I roar through mountains and valleys, uprooting trees and tearing off rooftops
Often, I bring thunder and rain, casting a shadow of misery over the land
In cities, I'm naughty, playing with umbrellas and lifting skirts with my gusts
By Parizo Van Thulare
I was born endless miles from the town
Where tales are told about the king in his crown
Where plates are treated same glass
So fragile respect is of the erything
So beautiful My land is stunning
I speak in languages of types
Pepperd with traditions
And dishes of all kinds
African made with the greatest taste
African grilled with inspiring tales
Where I come from mountains sing the sweetest
Rivers play the romance
The Baobabs are cutiest
It is the land of its own kind
My Africa ,my quest
I come far away from the mountains of Drankesnberg
They Roar with beauty .
Near Lies the tunnel of Straitjdom Lepelle flows peacefully
Full of acquatics living blissfully
The words it sings
speak for the trees
It breezes the fume of sighs
With a flavor of purple ice
Down to Mapunghubjwe I rise
My Africa , my best
The history of the greatest is unleashed
It calls upon the genius to come and aphrend
It calls upon the future to come and learn
My Africa ,my pride
I haven't done yet
Get something to write
Still I 'm here to rhyme.
Talk about the bothers of Kruger
Worldwide are known
Worldwide they are shown
The falls of Victoria
The Valleys of Zambezi
The desert of Kalahari
Lobola or mahadi
This is my Africa
See the cars in colors pouring
See nations in rainbows queuing
To see only the biggest
To witness the wrestlemania of the nature
Ohh! what a wonderful adventure
My Africa is my biome
The land of dreams and hopes
All thanks to the almighty for such smashing home
I'm so proud to be an African
I'm so down with my heritage