Long Scores Poems
Long Scores Poems. Below are the most popular long Scores by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scores poems by poem length and keyword.
SPIRITS OF EASTERS PAST
On Easter Sunday, Christians celebrate
Christ rising from the dead.
I loved Easter as a child, it was as special
as Christmas and went to my head.
Always a brand new dress, and pretty, new
Mary Jane shoes.
Colored eggs of yellows, reds, pinks and blues.
The church flocked with lilies,
the altar, marble and gold.
This was an event on which,
I need not be sold.
Afternoon, on Easter, the family came for dinner.
We all looked so lovely and the silver candelabra
shimmered.
It lit up the beige and gold Lenox dinnerware.
The family smiling and laughing, who would dare
dream of not being there.
Mother bought assorted flowers of all colors.
It somehow reminded me that people of any skin
color, are truly sisters and brothers!
Think! Our souls do not in colors come.
We are all~God's daughters and sons.
Yes, I am aware many threw God overboard.
No kidding! I can see it in the USA, where not being
a Christian brings one high scores.
Try to get into heaven, with God's laws broken in
your hands.....
Where you have decided, that you are God, and that
you created the family of man!
The huge Easter baskets were filled with Easter toys
and yummy Easter candy.
Covered in colores cellophane and huge ribbons, made
this day even more dandy.
Aunts, uncles, all my cousins, such a glorious family on
those Easters were close and handy.
Easter was so special in the days way back when.
Replaced now by fear of being near others, I would do
anything to live back then!
When I could hug someone and see those smiles!
But that exists only in my mind, and I can revisit those
days...only in memory's miles!
4/9/2023
After two scores and ten, a stranger met a weary soul,
With scattered hair and a faded face, resembling a ghost.
“We have crossed paths before, I am certain,”
the stranger said in a trembling voice.
“Years of struggle have passed,
yet the standards of our nation have fallen low.
That is why a teacher like me appears this way.
Education has been handed over to businessmen
who honor no principles
and worship only money.
These wrinkles and crooked fingers
reflect the sickness of our social fabric.
We have lost our dignity
and the very purpose of our lives.
Now we labor endlessly,
chasing money in lonely silence.
The knowledge that once enlightened us
is now disregarded and disgraced.
Our goals have shifted,
our direction is lost.
Teachers are mocked, stripped of respect,
while the corrupt and notorious
are honored instead.
In a gentle but solemn voice,
the stranger declared:
“Pakistan must mend its ways
if it wishes to save the heart of education.”
With that, the stranger stepped out of the dark jungle
onto the straight path,
where light shone brightly
from the right corner of the forest.
Why are we here Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
Placed 1st
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Every living thing on earth has its unique soul;
And each and every soul has its specific goal;
After death the body dies but the soul does not.
Like a pupil who is failed appears for the exams
Time and again, until he scores pass marks,
The soul also passes from one body to another,
Until freed from the bondage of birth and death.
To unfold spiritually and to evolve itself, the soul,
According to its own karma, is born again and again.
Each time the soul takes on a new body,
It continues its evolution and is reincarnated,
And the purpose of this whole exercise is to get Moksha.
We are here because an eternal God created us;
As a drop of water merges with its source, the ocean,
After reaching its perfection,
The soul merges into God, its creator.
Death, be not so proud,
Today might roar thine dark clouds,
Be not still so proud,
Morrow, life will call aloud,
Thou shalt in a crowd wear shroud.
_________________________________
Tanka |15.05.2021|
Topic: death, life
Poet’s note: COVID has been wreaking havoc all around. The other day I saw a picture of a newly made crematorium burning scores of pyres, dead bodies awaiting last death rites, the funereal shadows creeping slowly by, pre-monsoon dark clouds hanging overhead, and it looked as if Death has still been spreading its ill-gotten empire all around. Silence possessed me for a few seconds and from the resulting speechlessness was born this Tanka.
The Rundown
I’m feeling all boxed up
caving from within...
Constructive delusion of truth
I can’t believe what I’m in...
Dreams of my youth
with a prison stint
my passions deep within
letting very few in...
I’ve been down on luck
I’m living life to win...
No more corners to turn
I’m gonna straight line this...
Mr. DA here’s a tip
a little something for ya...
You better hide from us
cause we gonna f......destroy ya...
You have no case
so what to do now...
Keep pursuing me
as I’m heading outta town...
Feds around the corner
watching every move
late night terrors
ain’t no way I’m gonna lose...
First you gotta find me
good luck with that...
Where to start first
here’s a tit for tat...
Look in the corners
every square inch...
With all that going on
what’s next is a cinch...
I’m that shadow standing
outside your bedroom window...
I’m no modern commando
but here’s a short little intro...
Your .......... so upset
crying all damm day...
that’s what happens when a ........
has his way...
Where my people now
f......haters everywhere
smoking on some gelato
as I die my f......hair...
Different person different state
setting up shop
just you wait...
Bigger than before
larger than the next
this street life s...
is simple yet complex...
After I get my millions
safe and sound away...
I’m coming for them b......
that tried to have me locked away...
You won’t see me coming
creeping down the block...
Peeping out the window
as the neighbors hear the shots...
All scores settled
finally time to chill...
Living a life of luxury
while heading to Brazil...
Just remember one thing
it’s all I gotta say...
When you hear that late night phone ring
It’s me that just escaped..
Oh Nixon what did you do,
Woe will drown and plague you,
Sending more soldiers into Vietnam
Where you know there is no calm,
Only war, killing and death,
The fueling of Americans sent to
Fight in this pathetic war,
Would no longer be tolerated,
The public were angry and irritated.
Two reporters wanted
To expose Nixon’s treasonable ways,
As a President, his days
Numbered, he knew Vietnam was losing,
But continued sending fated young men
In scores of ten,
To this ungodly war,
Kept feeding the newspapers with lies
As a youth sent to Vietnam,
Is tortured and dies.
Reporters,
Plotted and attained highly secretive
Documents, hurting Nixon to his core,
But they were kept in a safe secret store.
These tale tale documents revealed
That the Vietnam war amounted to ‘zilch’
Nixon’s unacceptable involvement
Did not move an inch,
He didn’t care that youths were dying
Nixon did not even flinch.
The public became aware
How could the President dare?
All was revealed by a
Well-known source,
Then history took its course,
Nixon resigned, was granted a full Pardon
By Vice President Ford, Nixon's evil stardom
Dissolved, as he left the White House
In disgrace,
In front of America and the whole
Human race,
The Watergate scandal would be known,
But the truth still had to be told,
And freedom of speech, again to unfold!
PLEASE GOOGLE HOW THE WASHINGTON POST MISSED THE BIGGEST WATERGATE STORY OF ALL.
In an ill-advised decision,
Educationally dumb,
New York City’s ranked its teachers,
Which defies the rule of thumb.
For the whole world now has access
To the way each teacher scored,
Though I thought humiliation
Was a means to be deplored.
Only math and English teachers
Bear the brunt of this new rule,
Which eliminates most pedagogues
Who work in every school.
What’s the basis of the rankings?
Well, it’s simple yet pathetic –
Results of standard city tests,
Supposedly prophetic.
A teacher may be patient, smart,
Creative or exciting;
She may inspire thinking minds
Or brilliant bursts of writing.
But all of that won’t mean a thing
If students’ scores are flat;
‘Cause politicians are convinced
Exams are where it’s at.
It doesn’t matter if the kids
Have problems or are poor;
The teacher is the one at fault
When there’s a sub-par score.
And now the public has the chance
To check each teacher’s name;
A ranking near the bottom means
They know just who to blame.
My question to the city is,
For teachers who scored low,
If branding them on websites
Is the proper way to go.
For people are so quick to judge
When labels are applied.
I know I’d feel like Hester Prynne,
With no place safe to hide.
Like educators everywhere,
I’m shocked, appalled, dismayed.
To those in charge who pushed this through,
You get a failing grade!
eventually the overthinking had stopped
meditation and prayer had settled emotional scores
and bygones became a bright shadow of hope
past performance was no indicator of future success
the Tarot cards merely pictures of a possible path
a fool on a journey of becoming wise and serene
he settled for what was there at this moment
in immense gratitude and with blossoming faith
in his dream he was transported by a yellow convertible
surely a yellow brick road of transformation ahead
and he settled for amber curiosity and anticipation
conversed with Higher Powers to be in absolute charge
he dusted his boots and polished up an experience
that he had not chosen but lead to freedom and mileage
laced his walking shoes and ventured in patience
floodgates had closed once the earthquake diminished
as a rainbow and solemn star in the sky offered guidance
to move on and embrace a waxing moon of departure
destination not yet disclosed one day at a time
Visualizing Deepfake-ography scenes of it's obsessed imagination.
Camera-Chimera watches, captures your every move,
where shadows dance with light, in marionette grid pie.
Where programmed truth blends seamlessly with possessed ai.
A world awash with artifice and guile.
Where reality's mask conceals a sinister smile.
Weaves a new web, a tapestry of imagery and trickery, connecting it's "Hell-net Of Things".
Where cameras and chimeras entwine,
to capture moments, in pan de mime.
Oh, camera-chimera, voyeur unseen,
with scans of detection that penetrate our very grid of being.
You watch our movements, every step we take,
creating illusions, memories, stakes.
Beneath the surface of this digital abyss,
lies Develtron.
His drones, lies,
mere pixels, seamless in the coded
frame-work ed bones, eyes, zones.
Of a System of Surveillance, Principality,
Rithms and Thrones.
Social Credit Scores and currency given
only to the ones, who carbonate
in their alchemy of their hive,
as worker bee drones.
Ai. Heroes clash with dark forces that seek
to enslave, with programmed choices
FB"I"CISNSA/agency makes.
In the Cancel Culture Cookies they lovingly bake.
On a White Digital Horse?
Metatron to enter the frey...?
(FREESTYLE)
A cobra on the land is a cobra in the shrubs and still the cobra on the hills
The fire that ravages the grasses fear no Greenness of the forest
It first wears them rags and strips them naked
Dare not my laughing hyena
I cleanse the bones and make them hopeless even in the life aftermath.
I don't just bark.... I bite and crack to the marrow.
Feel like roaring like a lion that I am
King of the jungle
Still the champ in the Royal rumble
The face doesn't make me humble
I run and ruin the hurdles
In scores of minutes i do double
In all of these, still I don't tumble
Girls dem daddy, but they call me uncle
Cos i conquer the heavy Ukwu ukwu
Don't give a damn about the looku looku
Won nfi oju ana wo oku
.
(FM CONCEPTUAL)