Long Sagas Poems
Long Sagas Poems. Below are the most popular long Sagas by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sagas poems by poem length and keyword.
All problems on earth can be solved
Pause to think well and better than a smart machine
Take a deep breath to dissolve
The feelings of failing like a mean queen
Failure can never be part of any formulas
Tight your fists and be ready to tackle all doubts
Be resilient and determine to be on top of all sagas
Ignore the hypocrites and as often change routes
Never beg, be courteous
Be courageous and generous
Tomorrow always brings hope regardless
Of the challenges, the threats and the mess
Don’t rush or haste to find the solution
As needed and as required take prompt action
Defeat or losing is not part of the formula
And success will not come after writing one stanza.
Copyright © November 2023, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
The ignorant ones claim,
I'm full of petty problems,
a slave to the darkness,
but if only they had seen
how I've slaughtered
malicious demonic sea creatures
that slithered along my spine,
undisturbed nor provoked.
You are the singing sunrise
to my sultry sunset,
weaving silver sonnets
from beige ballads
seducing my spirit
into sweet slumber—
igniting nocturnal
Novembers with
crimson showers
upon sepia stems,
because It's no longer
the climatic chaos I fear,
it's the calm you've crafted,
continuing to be
my constant comfort.
Your devotion adds
color and clarity in my once
monochrome existence,
as you've polished
the dimmed stars in my eyes,
they now glitter like
shimmering fireflies,
a reincarnation
of the strength
from Freyja's tears,
after you kissed them
with your silken soft sagas.
When the days begin
to dawn upon dreary dusks
you've aromatized my
universe with summer scents.
Thor's thunder could
not demolish our
kind of spring as
our celestial spirits
float around the nine realms.
A part of you will
forever rhyme as
clusters of couplets
fated to be,
the rest of you flow
like simple stanzas
of empathic free verse.
As my story will make
Odin ashamed, and
Fenrir cry, so when all
the beauty of butterflies
congest my throat,
preventing me from
pouring dreams of
stardusts upon
your selfless quill…
always remember us
for the times we swayed
and enclasped into
our own silhouette,
running from the
stormy disarray of society’s
serpentines,
swimming in Satanic
sapphire seas.
Whilst the debt I owe
for your generosity will drown
me in endless poetry,
floating on metaphors
without blueprints,
keeping the vampires
from Beelzebub's door,
releasing me from the
chains of uncertainty …forevermore.
Who decides what historical events adorn
textbooks students read,
hence a starry notion born
grew up while
this lumpenproletariat day dreaming,
Asian aw shucks husky
husbandry furrowed brow gritty farmer
barnstorming across
expansive fields of baby
(barely) barley corn
crib bed crop 'pon harvest time,
(an maize zing genre), especially
when enriched with humus
laden loamy muck cob bra,
then aye delightfully
trumpet from dehorn
of good 'n plenti kernel Sanders gave me
saluting rank and file fool's capped
fecund fashioned earthborn
dunce sing tassels,
versus growing seasons gone by,
when draught of ideas forlorn
despite futilely blowing on my flugelhorn
high and dry reap peat head paltry yield,
asper when this strapping chap
a sweaty backed greenhorn
pondering why agrarian laborious life of toil
omitted as part and parcel of "newsworthy"
posterity sagas deeming
shenanigans of highborn
and/or "FAKE" headlines crowd inborn
noble folks,
who grease palms of industrialists,
whose quaking self importance
thwarts aside rural cosseted
krummhorn grounded bumpkin mor'n
how kapellmeister coaches bourgeoisie
helping determine
zero absolute value of newborn
fated to slave away
till body electric outworn,
yet paradigm shift of
(butter late then ever)
jiffy popcorn version
sown by seeds of Jethro Tull,
whose bonhomie with brio didst reborn
agricultural revolution took root,
whence before long some did scorn
and lamented machinations
ordered simple existence ripped and torn,
where antithetical views suppressed
and unto revolutionaries
became legion and well-worn.
When Iceland rose majestically,
A volcanic isle, born of the sea.
This land, that continents divide,
A place where fire and ice reside
And Norsemens sagas, too were born.
Goddess Aurora, brings the dawn,
Thor is thunder, God of war,
Odin seeks wisdom it's folklore.
A pagan faith forever blind,
Nature is savage,sometimes kind.
Those cold North winds began to blow,
And wintertime delivers snow.
An idyll village by a stream,
Resplendent in a poet's dream.
Aurora dances through the night,
Fantastic bands of coloured light.
A blizzard came, the snow lay deep,
The mountain slope began to creep,
With noise like thunder from a gun,
An avalanche was on the run.
A mighty force, it's rushing sound,
Engulfing everything around.
The village now is buried deep,
For rescuers , no time to weep.
Where do they search beneath the snow,
No landmarks; so, how do they know?
Nature has shown her savage face,
This avalanche, her fall from grace.
The year was nineteen ninety five,
And twenty souls they did survive.
For twenty more eternal peace,
Oh! When will nature ever cease?
Is this the price they had to pay?
To live in fear another day.
On land and sea, just as before,
Mankind and nature, still at war.
As ancient runes, inscriptions tell,
This land where both can never dwell.
As legends say in every tale,
This constant struggle to prevail.
When man holds out an olive branch,
Nature, becomes an avalanche.
2/ 21/ 2015.
The ALGORITHM had its day
Causing mass confusion, disgust with foul play
The day a waste of time unless generously used
As an activist for social change much more amused
The algorithm has its weekly picks
Causing alarm to its own members politics
Pausing are moments of awareness of harm
Losing its confidence and poetry charm
Enabling cruelty upon its own community
Does not readily afford cavalier immunity
The buzzing annoyance is seen only weekly when
For a poem’s brilliance earning them an honor chosen
Not sympatico to spare any feelings
On the contrary these are dirty dealings
Unshared is what has been tossed in the soup
Manipulation meant for unsuspecting, driven by a coup
A group of troublesome lifers who cawk and complain
Hurtful and shameless with nothing more to give or gain
It’s they who buzz around the clock in the broth bowl
Denial of words mirrored and who love-on as the troll
It’s what keeps them afloat and this for not long
Theirs's a sinking ship—prolonged
Let not the poet’s freedom of speech this be of
‘What’ the poetry site is willing to preach hereof
Not a good look
A possible hook?
Keep the sagas flowing
Fueling of hatred showing
Bringing to the spotlight what he/she dictates
Hiding ‘hind algorithms inhabited by humanoid hate
A poetry site's admin throws itself into the mix
Whether it be a lesson Or just for kicks
It shows mistrust, question, and doubt
Really this what it be, about
By its accidental-exacting choice
This reality is the true voice
(A Palindrome poem is unique.
You can read the verse line
from left to right. You can also
read the verse line backwards
from right to left. And the clear
meaning will remain!)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
eye level eye
deed pop deed
~~~~~~~~~
wow eve wow
gal did lag
~~~~~~~~~
eye madam eye
gag sagas gag
~~~~~~~~~
pop noon pop
mum civic mum
~~~~~~~~~
wow tenet wow
not kayak ton
~~~~~~~~~
pop time emit pop
refer level refer
~~~~~~~~~~
racecar refer racecar
stats deified stats
~~~~~~~~~
pop anna pop
wow deed wow
~~~~~~~~~
stop level pots
dog madam god
~~~~~~~~~
gag tenet gag
wow anna wow
~~~~~~~~~
live madam evil
rats eye star
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
22 July 2018
Singapore
k i n d n e s s
is the petrichor perfume
enveloping the sky,
between~
you and I
as clouds splatter juniper sprinkles,
coalescing stubborn storms,
rinsing away stained foams
with raining roses,
serenading hymns of heaven,
calming the internal conflicts
like soft rays of morning stars…
Tonight, I follow the distant sirens,
echoing sagas of the soothing sun,
seeking c o m f o r t
through soft feathers,
unfurling love laced in lilac
and lavender,
while candles and crystals
radiate radiant rubies,
elevating elegance,
enhancing z e s t.
For in the corners of my heart~
thrive twinkling tendrils
of tulip twilight,
wishing upon swirling sparks
of firefly wings;
'let this world be a diamond haven,
where compassion is the dialect
that eases thunder-struck seas..'
So remember…
I’ll be there when curtains close.
Listen to the breeze
carrying my prose,
written with timeless glitters.
Tell me that I am the name,
the crooning tern that glides above
resilient ripples’ whispers.
Tell me that the mauve moon
veiled in mellow mists
reminds you of me…
as I still weave k i n d n e s s
in kaleidoscopic ink,
to erase the darkness
that f a l l s upon your silken silhouette.
Oh come with me ye boys and girls;
And what stops, I ask, the youth and the old?
Come ye of all age and gender,
I'll lead you to magic, wonders untold.
I lead you deep into woods, dreary and dark,
And moss-laid meadows by a rill and a brook,
Where dragons and demons cast their fiery spell,
Great venturings into quests are undertook.
Did you summon up fairies, is that your wish?
Or perhaps sinewed heroes, comely maidens you'd like.
I'll give them all, and some more, if that's your wish,
Perhap's you'd like some Zen, linked with maintaining your bike.
Most splendorous are my realms, on Earth and afar,
From dark Styx to Elysium, Valhalla's Halls,
To Barsoom and beyond to Syrius, and Dog,
I'll take you through great deserts, through Poseidon's squalls.
Or perhaps you'd prefer to hear from wizened old sages,
Of wisdom, of life, of what awaits you in the pale,
Or some sagas of survival, of heroic strife,
Maybe you want the telling of whodunnit tales.
I'll get tired of the telling, leave plenty unsaid
But you're sure to be richer by the tales in my book
I ask of you nothing, neither fee nor a price,
Just cosily curl with a tome in your favourite nook.
15 Apr 2016
“Wicked Web of Woes”
Is there a reason
to rhyme when
lifeless fingers
breathe toxic agony,
whilst disgraced
quill suffocates
from wildering
riddles swerving to
the stillness
of calcified air?
As today, my heart
keeps pacing,
searching for a
symphony of serenity-
amid wayward clemency,
and when the first star
of the evening sky,
fades and shatters
upon a celestial canvas
of colorless dreams.
I feel the sweeping
wings of salvation,
resting amidst
clipped faith,
drifting swiftly towards
abandoned clarity;
exiled into
barren fields of
vast polarities,
where hope collapses
into an eternal demise,
tangled within a
wicked web
of woeful sagas,
trapped between
heavy clouds
of unshed tears,
beneath the
crisp cusp of sanity.
Yet I stand in
sweltering silence,
recollecting lost
chronicles of
who I once was,
whilst I’m drowning
in waves of
vexing numbness,
screaming into
the oblivious
spheres cloaked
in smoky
arctic haze,
questioning the
captive chains
of reality,
in dialects only
the moon
can comprehend.
Am I destined
to be caged
in sinful darkness
that the
world fed me,
with sharpened
knives at
empty tables,
with faceless
ghosts of yesterday?
Perhaps there’s
still a poem
that can unlock
the mystery
to a future that
thrives with
fruitful orchards,
where rain that
tastes succulent
wouldn’t burn
your flesh,
for even the
milky-ways would
unravel a realm where
everything should
be as it seems.
Vanquishing the
strings that bind—
daring me to breathe.
Ink Empress
Fading Star Silence
Gray overcast clouds cluttered the sky, leftovers of Saturday wind and rain and cold. I scanned the yard for the birds and squirrels, so often scavenging fallen flower seed and stale, dried bread.
In among the fallen gathered leaves and branches, where the night winds scattered autumn's remnants and their residue, she huddled, brown beige fluffed with piercing eyes, appearing beneath the holly, nibbling on some fallen berries and sedum seeds, a dove sat, alone and soltary, eyeing her surroundings, quiet in December's cold.
Perhaps she sought a long-lost mate, succumb to the harshness of the season, or waited on the warmth of a rising sun, or just listened for the gatherings of other creatures here, in the safety and confines of the garden, now at rest or perhaps, she waited - on the joy and celebration of the season.
Was she recalling the stories of old, ancestral stories of the dove of peace?
Was she familiar with the prophecies, sagas told of a king to come?
Was she only one of God's many creatures, created and loved in their simplicity, images of his love, the pleasure of his countenance?
Patient, she settled in the embrace of the season, recalling all her mind knew. The encounters of food and mate, love and care provided throughout her life, the warmth of the winter sun, the shelter of the fallen leaves, the hope and promise of spring and new life to come. For now, as she sequestered herself in all of nature, she held out for the signs.
The images of a slowly rising sun, a star-traveling east, the journey of a young husband and wife, expecting the old prophecy to be fulfilled. Waiting on Christmas arrival, she knew well, he would come, the innocent babe in a manger, in a war-ravaged city, where Hope would reign once again. In that quiet solitude, she prayed, she would take flight again and announce to the world, peace was coming, open your hearts, welcome him with your arms.