Long Shortened Poems
Long Shortened Poems. Below are the most popular long Shortened by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shortened poems by poem length and keyword.
Harbinger of Spring
A perfect beauty, lover of sunshine
Casting her brilliance, a warm golden glow
Pride of my patch Winter Jasmine sublime
Drawing the eye with her fantastic show
Bright blossom blooming on branches so bare
Greeting the season, the dawning of spring
This glorious vine, though no scent to share
has a colourful zest, makes your eyes zing
Burgeoning plant sprawling over a wall
Disguising old brickwork coated in lime
Shortened and shaped away back in the fall
but no holding back now, this is her time
Of all the flowers the garden blessed
The Winter Jasmine is one of the best
Un-nerved by formal sentencing assemblies,
Marks and Words, bound by conjunctive amenity.
The tried beliefs that short cuts speed words into action.
Made stuffy Old School feel out of fashion.
Punctuation board-slams her silver gavel;
“A shortened distance, yet far to travel.”
Marks are pushed into line to enter their plea.
Dash Dash Dash has trailing thoughts…
Comment remarks that it thinks too much.
Question Mark, curiously rotund and stout,
asks “What’s this meeting all about?”.
Proud Period, acquainted with the strident rituals of formality,
Quickly departs, leaving a daunting spot of terse finality.
Comma’s game of pause and snag,
grammatically adheres to one of tag.
Overwrought Exclamation Mark, nervously blurts:
“Unruly disorder can make matters worse!”.
Semi colon maintaining proper pauses,
Stays anchored between compelling clauses.
Colon fearful of growling barks,
snuggles closer to Quotation Marks.
Apostrophe’s like for word possession,
worries over changing word obsession
Oh, Oh! Oh? Oh…
These are shameful attempts to monopolize,
Even with trite words, of unassuming size.
.
Punctuation thinks her identity’s impaired
Might she be confused with the shrew, Grammar?
She calls to order a capitol thought.
sliding up to Exclamation Mark, shouts “’STOP!’
The object of this meeting,
Is not subject to self- beating.
No presence is here to criticize, or chastises,
nor harmonize.
If getting through is what stays true.
Will be understood by some , but always to you.”.
The irony of men’s life journey.
Man sees first light through the gap between his mother’s legs.
He spend most of his life trying to slip back into a gap.
The baby comes into this world wearing a hoody.
A doctor decides that the hoody must go, snip, snip.
The baby, the boy, the man, the old man’s head exposed
to the elements, except when entering the holy of holy’s.
Over eighty years have passed, time and fate has altered.
Gravity and age has shortened the height of ones stature
and added inches, feet and pounds to man’s girth.
Old age, has shrunk the length of the head of the family.
Old age, and all that that implies, leaves a negative impact.
As man looks down at the head of the family, the family jewels.
All he observes is sagging sacks and the hoody he lost as a baby.
B. J. “A” 2
June 3rd, 2025
A brave young soldier died,
killed in Afghanistan.
And he'll be interred as
an honored serviceman.
He was placed in harm's way
by those he defended.
And far from family
his shortened life ended.
He was a patriot,
a man of strong morals.
He shunned recognition
and garnered no laurels.
He's dead; I must face that,
but it's breaking my heart.
My son was my hero,
and I'm falling apart.
His duty resulted
in a father's worst fears.
And though I want to cry,
I won't greet him with tears.
His body was sent home
in a flag-draped coffin.
And I go visit his
grave, every so often.
(Blank Verse)
5/23/2016
~Gypsies Tramps and Thieves~
Gypsies what do we think, the word is coupled with hate
But were the original gypsies - aware of their fate
The Egyptian forebears were exiled from their home
Supposedly for hiding Jesus so too other continents they did roam
The Romaine Egyptians, were then exiled they had to cross the sea
And became a shortened version -the word we use gyp - sy.
A gentleman of the road the romanticised tramp was named
He didn’t look for work but for this he was not shamed
He begged his way across the land, begging for a crust
You leave him out a plate but be careful which you trust.
To deprive someone of their goods, and keep them for their own
The thieves of this world are the scum we do not their actions condone
Unlike the old time gypsy or the gentleman of the road
Those that commit acus reus, are lower than the toad
Unlike a toad we will not hurt, the thieves need to be caught
Unlike the tramp or gypsy - lessons need to be taught
Our trust we should be careful where ever we do place it
Gypsies tramps and thieves are not the best bet - let us fact it.
©
acus reus : the act of theft to deprive some one of their goods
In my mind are many rooms,
but the one most interesting of all my rooms
would be the room of my imagination.
In this room are thousands upon thousands
of closets, cabinets, and shelves,
and inside each one are different pieces of
my imagination!
Each cabinet is organized by type.
Some are surreal in color or vivid technicolor!
Those pieces are my dreams.
My fantasies are closeted.
The ones made manifest on paper or computer
are sitting out on shelves!
All the ones which can be seen
are those I call my poems or stories.
Most are not dark in color
but are bright or multi-colored.
I decorate the room of my imagination often.
You may come and see my new shelves
at any time!
Do mind the wet paint.
March 20, 2018
For Viv Wigley's "Mind the Wet Paint" Poetry Contest
(this is a shortened version revised from the one I posted
earlier this month, not realizing there was a line limit!)
a Gaudier Brezeka tribute
momentary
fits of enthusiasm
great in promise
visible on the horizon
sanguine features
objects of stimulation
in a fine beautiful spirit
gentleness
with humour
in delicate movements
statues
sketches& a few
page on art
en passant
such shafts of light
faculty of sythesis
with a
faculty of comprehension
sculptured energy
life in the absolute
such intensity
of existence
in a petrified
semblance
such opulent maturity
yet
a fragmented
potential
into
a stasis
of defiance
free of influence
a sense of stone
in stylised shapes
in opulent curves
as assembled digest
unyielding in scope
a consumable scope
for restless inquisitions
now vaguely forgotten
shortened
by the strain of war
but
with
accomplished
ease
in a vortex forseen
The blue crabs soft shell
for a week at best
the wait for the hard shell shield
may only bring death.
This vulnerabl state
inherent to us all
must be hidden, eliminated
to avoid it’s fatal fall.
One that doesn’t withdraw
inspite of no protective cloak,
are few among many
giving us all hope.
Breath may be shortened
on this baron land,
an actual oasis
for the strongest at hand.
Breathing air that all share
would be suffocating for this soul.
Their predisposition to sensitivity
allows them to achieve
their ultimate goal.
Putting others first
so their breath is not shallow.
with the strength to breath less
as they follow.
When your life falls apart so suddenly.
You always thought you would live happily.
Then in a moment...love is gone.
You wonder how you will...carry on.
You sadly realize, there and then,
You can't finish what you started,
You're all alone and left broken hearted.
Remember this my friend,
Love is the cure for the broken hearted,
You'll carry on, even tho he's departed.
Love is the cure for the broken hearted.
Love makes you sick, love makes you well,
In the end you can always tell,
the end is always better than the beginning,
even when you lose your love you're winning.
You will after all, finish what you started,
cause love is the cure for the broken hearted.
John Derek Hamilton
May 15,2014 Revised October 16,2015
shortened version of the song with same name.
Deep within my heart a hollow resides,
A hidden love, concealed from prying eyes,
Its flames, like embers, burn softly and glow,
With no hope of flaring up from the faux.
Only in secret, do furtive eyes meet,
Forbidden yearnings, longingly discreet,
These stolen moments, are all we can keep,
So shallow, when we yearn for love so deep.
Each furtive touch, a tremor in the dark,
Each kiss hesitant a flick fleeting spark,
Each murmured whisper a tell barely heard,
Each eye to eye stare, shortened and blurred.
This love blighted gets unrequited stalled
For love secret, is never love recalled?
For love secret is never love recalled?
We built a secret garden, safely stone-walled,
To hide our love away, but it did not work.
For straying innuendo and eyes did smirk,
Suspiciously following our sneaks away,
With no let-up in surveillance every day.
From jealous stares, glares, winks and snooping eyes
That traced every move, with evidence their prize.
So we must keep meeting in a secret place,
With no walls, never a completely safe space.
Never in the same space or place, repeated,
To ensure our enemies are defeated.
We must also meet less often to allay.
Our secret love must fade, but never away.
Our secret love must fade, but never away.
Living on in spirit, forever and a day.
We will cherish the hidden wink when eyes meet.
The faintest furtive touches when we greet
The smell of body aromas in passing.
The softness of familiar voices laughing.
The wait-a-while lingering on your smile,
Feigning unfamiliarity to beguile.
Our secret, our love in secret must live on.
Like the paint on canvases fades upon
The staring glare of light shining year on year.
But our love's spirit will forever endear.
For the spark, flare and glint of love's affair.
Like bottled wine matures and ages to better fare.