Long Sections Poems
Long Sections Poems. Below are the most popular long Sections by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sections poems by poem length and keyword.
Give me an idea that I can use
and built on for the future.
Run through my mind and find something kind
overlooked to help me to endure.
Give me fables and legends of old;
all the enchanted stories.
Find something kind and run through my mind
supplanting negative memories.
Give me not only wisdom to see,
also the courage to lead.
Run through my mind and find something kind
to say to my fellow man in need.
Give me all your sorrows and the pain
that you’ve saved from your brothers.
Find something kind and run through my mind
with the hope that I can bring others.
POETIC FORM: ZaniLa Rhyme
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ZaniLa Rhyme
The following is an invented poetic form for which I have written several examples over the years. The ZaniLa Rhyme is a repeating form with an inverted refrain. It is, in essence, a syllabic form created by poet, Jan Turner. It consists of at least three 4-line stanzas; or six per the original design. It has 9 syllables per line in lines 1, 3 & 4, with the 2nd line having 7 syllables. The rhyme scheme: ab (c¹.c² –Internal Rhyme) b. The metre for L3 is: /**/ … /**/
Line three is a repeating line throughout. It contains leonine verse, divided into equal portions (syllable count), separated by a conjunction (which might remain static), resulting in the nine-syllable count. The title is derived from the first half of this line. The same line is repeated as the third line in each stanza, but the two sections of the internal rhyme are switched around in each following stanza. Thus, the line is repeated identically in each uneven numbered stanza, and the turned line, in each even number stanza. In the example, I have written it in italics and boldface for ease of reference.
Each stanza starts with the same opening words (underlined for ease of reference) but continues with a different ending which is unrhymed with any part of the stanzas—it is progressive in its statement and carries the momentum of the poem forward.
(A Native American Story)
Iktomi is a spider fairy,
though in truth he is related to mankind.
Like most of mankind
Iktomi is vain, shallow, and mischievous
yet he alone, is the master
of greedy craftiness.
He has long braided hair
and he paints his funny face red.
He draws black circles around his eyes.
His buckskins are beaded and sparkle
day and night.
One day, Iktomi went to Walmart.
the people had never seen a Dakota Sioux legend
strutting through their store
and marveled at his gaudy attire.
Iktomi was very pleased with his appearance
and the impression he was making.
When he reached the aisle
where the canned soups were displayed
he told a worker to open one for him
for he was hungry. It was politely explained
that he would have to buy one.
Iktomi flew into a rage and hopped over the aisle.
He began to throw canned goods at the startled shoppers
but this time he could not intimidate the people
who, by and large, were by nature - large
and as equally as hardy as any warrior.
Several mighty consumers and several sturdy maidens
chased him as he crashed through the
bathroom tissue sections… a mistake
for the beefy shoppers prized toilet paper most highly.
He was carried howling over the heads of the throng
out into the parking lot
where a few off-duty anarchist’s rescued him;
for mischief and mayhem
were again in need of a fake hero.
**Ginger Shots**
Today, of all days, I find myself dividing my tears into sections. With each moment, each tear, and each snuffle I make, the paper tissues crumble, showing signs of the mishaps in life that surely cannot be mended. Yesterday was your birthday, and today is my revelation about life—my life.
Lately, it seems I’ve taken a new route, and this road is certainly not paved with gold. God truly blesses heroes; He has never failed me yet! However, I have encountered many obstacles. Is it empathy or just plain stupidity? I never considered myself an empath.
As we grow older, it's true that we begin to see life from a different perspective—the lows, the in-betweens, and the highs. My emotions are so intense; they rise and fall, with frustrations that test my tolerance. Today, I saw red.
Today, I need my ginger shots. Who cares if it's unhealthy? Today, of all days, I am dividing my tears into sections. With each moment, each tear, and each snuffle I make, the paper tissues crumble, revealing the mishaps in life that cannot be mended.
Does anybody care or notice that America has failed us?
A nice trip through farm country where there are huge numbers of acres
planted in peach trees, apple trees, sections of shrubs planted for a nursery,
and also row crops are planted..Just a little time away from home to enjoy
my special day, the date upon which I was born many years ago. A celebration
that I was born, still live, and enjoy life. A few moments to enjoy a nice lunch together as a couple. The drive is always a pleasant one especially in the
spring or fall.
lavender fields
alive with color....
peach orchard in spring
The spring angular sun lighted the orchard like a vibrant silk dyed cloth being
tossed by a breeze. Pleasure centers of the brain sparkled with the expectancy
of being swaddled in auroras' satisfaction. The beauty, the anticipation of a wonderful lunch, and what might come coterminously to the last alluring curve in the road awakened my inner being with possibilities to what blessings abide for me.
young pecan orchard
interlaced with small plum trees....
future spring beauties
Hope for the future and our posterity seems gift wrapped in these fields what a joyous thought for my birthday treat.
Before reading this one read part one, the story will make more sense.
I felt safe amongst the colorful pages of the comic books wrapped around me. I could hear the little boy say bye to his grampa Cliff, his Grandpa said goodbye Ricky. There was a wonderful bouncing feeling as Ricky skipped out the door to his father's waiting car. As we started driving away Ricky pulled me out of the bag and I could see his mom, dad, sister and brother. As we drove along I learned the other boy was Roy and the little girl was Teresa. His parents simply were mom and dad.
I quite enjoyed the ride, Ricky's dadio had a need for speed and it was exciting passing the slower cars. In this world it seemed all of the other cars were slower. The first town we came to was Larder lake, if blinking had been possible I would have missed it. As Ricky looked through me I marveled at both the color of his eyes and the rugged landscape. Pine trees, poplar trees and beautiful lakes. I loved how the road was carved through sections of rock. The next small town I noticed was King Kirkland, it seemed rather little to be a King. It wasn't very long and we entered our destination which was Kirkland Lake.
Kirkland Lake was much bigger than where we had come from. I enjoyed watching the people as we traveled down Government Road West. I remember driving past restaurants and stores, Dadio slowed down to point out a diner called the Coffee Cup. He told us he had a Barber Shop at the back of the Diner, I was more interested in the theatre across the street. The theatre was called the Strand and I liked the flashing lights on the billboard. Just then Ricky placed me back in the paper bag with his comics so I slept for a while.
Orange Crush III to follow.
klaus says humanity has lost its trust' so i guess to regain
It is his new must??
trump has won and now presides.' As many people are
Opening their eyes.?]
Many Americans phoned and texted when a new bill was
Debated' and we saw things got really affected.'
I don't know how ( that went down ?)
With all those evil? davos clowns?
soros gates claus and carny, atten-borough thun-burg they'd send you barmy!
In listening to such fifteen minutes? it is plenty.' Of time
To escape the ' forever citys' and before they're built.!
Like a hive.? Do we have a mind.? Hmm think..Think think.?
Also action will do fine.' What will be the next distractions.? Maybe
Its simply best to do as above.? Get involved to devolve.!
Give the agenda a shove.? Which is like a train on its track
Of lies.?? If you remove some sections off a cliff it
Fly's
Westernmost in its regional placement and traditional identity,
rare but indigenous is its Arabian flavour,
and a significant bridge of peace
between its brothers and their common enemy.
Displays an open tradition, appreciative of diabolism
as witches are integral part of its cultural settlements.
Typical of its nucleus is a combination of minarets structured worship centers,
Bazaars, sections called medinas and lasbali fortresses.
Its riches in wood stored up through the Atlas mountains
has milked its way from the dashboards of the Rolls Royce brand
and its possession of the “mother of all flowers”
has given the French creative experts a reason to fancy the world.
Public bath are greatly preferred to private ones
to flatter socialization in shrines of ritual purification.
Its rare ideology in liver displacing the heart in love’s symbolism
gives a perceived cosmic effect of its cute uniqueness.
The “assembly of the dead” and the Tomb of John the Baptist
are hugely important in its global historic relevance.
Just the way Aid al-kebir is held highly
so also is handling of food with the right hand
and as well in the acceptance of offered meat.
The glory of such a symbolic geography never stay silent
because the constant whispers of its honour,
despite not a continental union member
is evidenced by its official friendship to the world power
which is the first ever, among hundreds of many more.
He bound thru hoarfrost, highland fells
With naught but knees to ring the bells
Such haunting peals from little blooms
That daubed his hell with dreamy doom
He wrapped his dreams around their throats
Sweet things that bled with beats and notes
And squeezed with all the strength he knew
While each bright face turned ghastly blue
The morn breaks, new, for each grieved soul
Though doubts and deeds can take their toll
He suffered, wrought from pride's cold dawn
Those highlands bled from shame, now gone
He searched for what he'd thus once found
That careless heart ... now dead and bound.
~ Honorable Mention ~ in the "Completely Your Choice (30) Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
* This is the Rhyme that my poem "Type, Cast" was built around ... I never did a mixed-form this way before, (writing the Free Verse sections and inserting Rhyme as I went), but compressing these sections after the fact helps me to see where the core ideas originated. Kind of a fun exercize, overall! *
THE CONDITION WE LIVING IN:Part 1:
The condition we living in,
Kindly ponder over it…?
Hello, Isn`t it intriguing to see the nation loss of hope?
The powers of oneness is no more in existence,
The spirit of patriotism is cast under sections of canalizations,
And everyone seems to put on bright eyes enforced by a grin on a face?
In fact, that’s just a mirage of uncertainties.
The individual heart is yoked with disappointments and depression.
It seems the nation have given up on her benchmark,
Only to pursue paganism as a solution.
Truth is lost in the mouth of our ignorant leaders.
Yet, they come to spit words of promises to propagate relief.
The nation is now reconstructed with deceptions, favoritism and jeopardy.
This is causing millions to be poverty-stricken,
And also plaguing livelihoods with extreme maleficence.
Indeed, this is the condition we living in.
When in the course of human events, issues, and circumstances,
one comes in touch with words that fit the reality of the situation;
and when we do, such words are assigned to the individual to explain
to us and our loved ones what ails us and what recourse or remedy
should be employed and pursued.
For the present theme, two words, one of which is a non-word,
come to mind. The non-word was quickly set aside when I learned
that it was indeed, not a word. The non-word was 'Apartmentalization'
which only came to mind because it 'sounded' the part. Next came
another word, 'Departmentalization', because it also had the feel
and the harmony, but was not the theme under consideration.
It was simply an exercise, not in futility, but in comparitalization;
Oops, did I just create another non-word? Let's just table that
figment of my imagination.
The elongated word and theme before us is the seven-syllable word,
COMPARTMENTALIZATION. As a noun, it is the act or process of dividing
something into separate and isolated categories, sections, areas, or
compartments. As such, I found it most interesting and useful in the field
of psychology. Dictionary. Com describes it this way: Psychology. the process
of mentally separating or setting aside one’s incompatible or negative emotions, beliefs, or behaviors: Coping with trauma entails psychological defenses—such as denial or emotional compartmentalization—that are inherently isolating. Wow! There is absolutely nothing figmental about this word.
This, in my view, best demonstrates the theme. It best defines both what I have observed in others and what I have personally experienced in my own life. Indeed, it is one of those 'survival mechanisms' that God has instilled in the human psyche. And whether it's halftime, timeout, or 7th-inning stretches, we learn to move ahead when we learn to 'label it' for a 're-visit' and 'set it aside', or to 'table it'. I can't imagine pants without pockets or a car without
a glove compartment. COMPARTMENTALIZATION. Don't leave home without it.