Long Robert Poems
Long Robert Poems. Below are the most popular long Robert by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Robert poems by poem length and keyword.
Here’s the story of a witch, good instead of bad.
No matter that she’s ugly as a troll.
She loves children and their innocence.
Protecting children, therefore, is her goal.
Unable to bear children,
the mother of the Troll-witch visited
a witch who gave to her two flowers:
the second one to eat was prohibited.
First the mother ate the pretty flower
and a daughter beautiful she had.
The mother, hoping for a son,
ate the second flower; that was bad!
The Witch-troll came about because
her mother did not harken to the witch.
Therefore, a witch herself the mother bore,
but her troll-like daughter was in kindness rich!
She loved and lost her pretty sister when
the trolls did steal her, and she fought.
She killed them all with a wooden spoon,
but getting back her sister she did not.
In ‘63, Hellboy came to her
for help when children gruesomely were killed,
the Troll-witch gave to him the wooden spoon.
The trolls turned into stone; no blood was spilled
I really like the Troll-witch, for
infertile Norway mothers need not mourn.
She gives them each a lovely flower, so
children beautiful to them can be born.
April 11,2023
For Robert James Liguori's 'The Women of Hellboy' Poetry Contest
Poltergeist was feeling frisky
New residents were in his house
Celebrating new home drinking whisky
His ghostly presence like silent mouse.
Happy pair were quietly fluted
Snoozing contentedly on comfy couch
Poltergeist decided to kick up rumpus
'twas definitely now haunted house.
Rage and ruin whirlwind temper
Calico cat cowers on the mat
Violent supernatural distemper
Enjoyed his hateful haunting spat.
Sleeping through ghostly tantrum
Quite unaware of strange going on
In the morning they'll need explanation
Before they move to Defcon 1.
Paranormal
Poetry Contest
Sponsored
by:
Robert James Liguori
17/12/2021
History paints a cruel and atrocious picture of human failure.
Unbelievable acts of hate leave a trail of pain, tears, and shame.
Mankind has behaved like the animal kingdom in many respects.
Acknowledgement has been granted for much of our human evils.
Nevertheless, we must continue pursuing human rights with diligence.
Religion, admittedly and unfortunately, has played a large and leading role.
If the truth is told, religion, especially Christianity, is also a healing force.
God is Loving and Good, entrusting his creatures to act in good faith and love.
Harmony and unity require taking ownership, and not blaming others.
Time is a friend to all who are willing to change and make amends.
Selfish acts of greed and hunger for power are pathways to destruction.
120421PSCtest, Human Rights Poetry, Robert James Liguori. 3P
rainy season
grief, white hydrangeas
hungry caterpillar
In part, The Haiku Society of America’s definition of a haiku reads, “Usually a haiku in English is written in three unrhymed lines of seventeen or fewer syllables.” Further, Japanese scholar Shigehisa Kuriyama states, “The 5-7-5 pattern by itself does not make a haiku.” (Gurga, p. 1). Contemporary English language haiku have departed radically from the 5-7-5 convention, including the Beat haiku of Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, and Gary Snyder, the latter awarded the Masaoka Shiki International Haiku Grand Prize in 2004. The haiku of Robert Spiess are especially experimental.
I recommend two sources for further study of haiku: “Haiku: A Poet’s Guide,” by Lee Gurga, addresses haiku in it’s traditional form; “Haiku Poetics in Twentieth-Century Avant-Garde Poetry,” by Jeffery Johnson discusses haiku as realized by modernist poets.
Speaking personally, it is most important for me to enjoy writing a haiku, correct form or not, and for my haiku to be enjoyed by the reader.
I’m mesmerized by the ocean.
Whether it’s almost silent and still
or thunderous and in turbulent motion,
I’m in awe and cannot get my fill.
The majesty of so vast a creation
overshadows each sight and sound
around me. During contemplation,
all else simply fades into the background.
Wading in its shallow, surging foam
is pleasurable, but I prefer
gazing at it from a distant cliff. When I’m home,
in my mind’s eye, the waves will stir.
I don’t have to sail the “ocean blue”
or know all the life that teems within
to be mesmerized by the magnificent view
of the ocean. Soon—I will see it again.
*"Columbus Sailed the Ocean Blue" is the title of poem by Jean Marzolo.
November 27, 2021
entered in the Wonderstruck Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Robert James Liguori
December 26, 2021
entered in A Strand (Dec 26) Poetry Contest
May 21, 2022
entered in the Fascination and Awe Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Jeff Kyser
June 15, 2022
entered in the 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 2 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Mark Toney
(Edited; I had left out a line)
Smokin’ Joe Bonamassa
What’s in a name? Well, I think a last name
like Bonamassa sure sounds really cool.
This guy I’d never heard of has some fame!
He learned to play by 4, and not in school,
and then by twelve, the kid was opening
for a concert! Can you imagine that?
To open for a great like B. B King!
So young was he to be such a cool cat!
With 15 albums, pride he must have had
to get three Grammy nominations. Wow!
To sing with Clapton made him very glad.
It was his dream! So what’s he up to now?
Recording with Beth Hart he’s had success
The British Blues sure taught him to impress!
May 15, 2023
For Robert James Liguori's 'Joe Bonamassa Inspiration 3' Poetry contest
How grand it is when blue sky meets the sea,
may sky and sand and water ever be,
reflected in this topsy-turvy lea.
Oh, let the stars fall down, and over we.
Will you meet me where the foam froths and roils,
where waves pound upon glistening soil,
and seagull's squawk in mismatched harmony;
oh, let the stars fall down, and over we.
Sea tossed, the dross shines upon the strand.
Gemstones are born, where the sky meets the land.
meet me down by the rush of lulling sea;
oh, let the stars fall down, and over we.
Here we will lie for all eternity,
with life and death, and our love of the sea.
Scenic Point by Robert Butler
On Sunday the Eighth of October 1871 shortly after nine o'clock at night,
The Great Chicago Fire began causing panicked folks to flee in fright!
'Twas alleged that Mrs. O'Leary's cow kicked a lantern to start the conflagration.
She and her hapless cow were "udderly" condemned by an outraged nation!
There was prejudice against the Irish and the O'Leary's were to blame,
For owning a cow, owning a barn and the lantern that ignited the flame!
But they were hardworking immigrants who'd saved $500 to buy the place,
To make a home for their family and the American dream embrace.
When the fire began a warning rang out from the courthouse bell,
But at 2:05 AM the massive bell crashed down as it tolled its final knell!
Since the entire town was constructed of wood, folks were asking for trouble,
And as a result old Chicago town was left in a smoldering heap o' rubble!
From the beginning of the fire everything that could go wrong went wrong!
Horses pulling fire engines ran helter-skelter scared by clanging bell and gong!
The fire left 100,000 citizens homeless and about 300 people perished,
Along with their cats and dogs and most everything else they cherished!
Well, it transpired that Mrs. O'Leary and her cow received a bum rap!
That dear little lady was in her bed when the fire began enjoying a nap!
Strangely, her barn and two cottages were spared in the Great Chicago Fire!
They were finally demolished in 1956 should anyone happen to inquire!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
My shopping excursions to the local marts are very rare indeed.
My dear spouse does the shopping, I only go when in dire need.
I have no interest in fostering the foreign imbalance of trade,
Therefore, when I shop I want to buy things American made!
Why, nowadays one can tour the world and go on a shopping spree,
Without leaving the county or crossing the billowing sea!
Since most things come from The Czech Republic or Paraguay,
The Peoples Republic of China, Japan and even Uruguay!
I can live sans everything French, especially their cheese and wine.
California wines and Wisconsin cheeses suit me just fine!
I'm desperately trying to find a locally-owned shoe store,
Where I can buy American shoes, not those assembled in Ecuador!
Alas, my turkey for holiday repast is imported from Old Mexico.
I'd much prefer that it be bred and reared here in Colorado!
Can anyone tell me where I can buy American made attire?
Seems all the labels read, "Made in Laos, Thailand, Belize or Eire!"
The plethora of stuff continues to invade our sacred shores,
Inundating the shops and marts, overflowing their cash drawers.
Even the paper upon which I scribe was made in a place called Texas,
But I reckon I can brook that, since with them we have a tenuous nexus!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Upon opening the fridge this morning I found, to my great displeasure, that there was nary an egg to be found. Posthaste I marched down to the corner market, grabbed a carton of fresh, free range eggs, darted smartly to be first at the checkout counter, and rifled through my wallet to see if I had ready cash or would have to employ my Visa card.
In my rush to sit down to my newspaper, sunny-side-ups and piping hot coffee, I had neglected to remove my sunglasses. This would hardly be worth mentioning if the young check out lady had not inquired, “Did you check your eyes to make sure they’re not crossed?” She grinned as if the question were perfectly proper. Was this her idea of a joke? Why, this rude, cheeky young tart was poking fun at my advanced age! The nerve! Obviously my ancient eyes couldn’t stand the daytime glare. Was that it?
I lifted my shades and squinted at her with my two evil eyes before tucking the carton under my arm and strutting back home with seething indignation.
Have I checked my eyes to make sure they’re not crossed. Good god, that’s not even a joke! But were those her actual words? I hadn’t been paying close attention, for my mind had been more on consuming the eggs than paying for them. But, no! Those were her exact words!
As I approached my door, I confess to have felt to be but the shell of the man I had been upon awakening that morning. I had to simply be a good sport and admit my days were all spent. Nothing to do but to turn on the oldies station, curl up on the sofa, and let the Reaper do his work. Did I check my eyes. My last indignity! Adios cruel world!
Entering the house, I found my friend reading a magazine and enjoying her morning coffee. “Oh Robert!” she called out.
“What now!” I snapped at her with a sinking sense of dead and doom.
“I was just wondering. Did you check your eggs to make sure they’re not crushed?”
“No”, I responded, relieved that I had mis-heard that young delightful check out lady. “I’ll do that right away!”