Long Simile Poems
Long Simile Poems. Below are the most popular long Simile by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Simile poems by poem length and keyword.
Pods of narwhals navigate Arctic seas,
while other whales are locked out; without keys.
Swimming along fractures takes expertise,
thick ice packs are nothing more than a tease.
Naturally nimble, they glide and squeeze
between invisible currents with ease.
They seem to fly as if on a trapeze,
harnessing waves like birds riding a breeze.
Though floating together like fallen leaves,
they have never seen a forest of trees.
And whenever the ice buckles and heaves,
they slip through the cracks where water doesn't freeze.
And awed by their tusks, I drop to my knees,
I've never seen creatures stranger than these.
(Monorhyme Sonnet)
2/11/2017
Their will, it could bend like a horseshoe
Up or down; forcefully pulled at both ends
But it can't be snapped or severed in two
Their spirit, a mighty axe
Wielded with great force
Can't split it in half like firewood
Their fortitude, a sledgehammer
Can't reduce it to shards of glass
It would bounce off upon impact
Their hopes, misfortune could whip it
Against a bark of a tree in rapid succession
Still, it would remain sturdy, unbroken
Their faith in God, it could drop to Earth
From mountain high, land with a thud
And still be perfectly intact
The devil tries inexhaustibly
To test it, to break it, and fails
Spectacularly every time
MID OCTOBER 2018,ANY FORM,ANY THEME UPTO MAX of 20 LINES
Sponsored by Brian Strand (Winner: 1st Place)
Date written and posted: 10/14/2018
You may consider it extremely odd
I’m so easily influenced by a cephalopod
Eight arms, three hearts, blue blood, nine brains
All unique, yet something else remains
The most important fact on which to think?
Cephalopods, like poets, possess special ink
Oh Octopi
Oh Octopi up in the sky
I wonder why you are so high
Don’t mean to pry but please reply
I have to try to reason why
Why are you shy? Why can you fly?
Please tell me why and do not lie
We're Octopi. On us you spy?
Imply we're shy? Imply we lie?
Don't wonder why we’re in the sky
Do not defy and do not pry
Do not decry — That’s our reply
Quickly comply! We do not lie
Oh my, oh my, I'll never pry
I'll not decry nor you defy
I will comply, on me rely
Oh, Octopi up in the sky
You do not lie! So high you fly!
To you I bid adieu — Bye-bye!
The sea became angry around mid-day;
waves rolled in and crashed against the shore.
The sky became dark and clouds turned grey;
the winds blew strong, air filled with ocean spray;
the storm was at hand, knocking at the city’s door.
Windows boarded up, the streets were abandoned;
a feeling of angst could be felt in the air.
The city was prepared to make its stand, and
the raging storm swirled and approached the land, and
the world watched in horror and said a silent prayer.
The storm made land around the fall of night;
rain fell in torrents and the wind blew throughout.
By the break of day the battered city was a fright;
trees were down, and streets flooded to great height;
leaving our present in shambles and our future in doubt.
Like the tempest she is filled with rage;
there’s an air of uncertainty when she is around.
She’s like a tiger that is trapped in a cage;
trying to escape and hoping to engage;
and still without her you cannot be found.
IN THE EVERGREEN OF HOPE
In the forest of despair,
The evergreen of hope,
Firmly rooted,
Stands in the mist
Of the saws
Of injustice:
Her tired body
Having withstood
The fires of debilitation
And devastating mudslides
Of eroding equity and justice:-
Like her ancestors,
Seek, knock, and ask,
The evergreen of hope
Cannot, and will not,
Be rotted away
By political fungi
Of deceit,
Nor racist bacteria
Of eroding unjust laws:-
Though in its shaded rest,
Hopelessness
May linger for a while,
The evergreen of hope,
Continues to raise her eyes
To the nourishing sunshine
Of reality,
As she sows
Her fertile seeds
In waiting bowed heads,
Impregnating
Their mental soils
With divine
Liberating wisdom
And its supreme guidance:-
Just keep always your Hopes alive
What ever may be the density of darkness?
Only a candle can create light.
What ever rough and tough may be the path,
You are walking or you have to follow,
Even without a lamp or Light,
Or a companion near or anywhere insight,
And you are walking on your way, Alone,
All alone, without anyone,
To support, to strengthen and
To console you in your plight,
When you are in despair and too sad,
And may be you are too old to bear,
The burden of your body and your heart,
And tears are rolling from your eyes,
And no one to ask,
why you are weeping and why are you sad?
And no one to care,
If you are tired and even bleeding,
While crossing the sands of time,
When still you have to cross,
Rivers, Plains and many ups and down of Life.
If such is the density of darkness,
All around you in your life?
Keep only the torch of Hopes,
Always alive.
Remember, you may not see that light,
If you want to feel it from open eyes,
But you will be illuminated very soon,
Some where deep inside,
Have trust
God will fill your soul,
With the eternal Joy and Happiness,
Spreading your own light,
All around you and
Removing all the darkness of your Life,
And the darkness of your Path.
You may not know how it happens?
But it happens always,
When you keep your Hopes alive,
Amid the darkness of Life.
What ever may be the density of darkness?
Just keep always your Hopes alive.
Ravindra
Kanpur India August 18, 2010
* Simile. For Deborah Guzzi's Contest 'Jewels of the Crown'
I went to a coffee shop on a Friday morning.
When the young lady working behind the counter;
Without provocation and giving no warning;
Laid me out with a smile, a welcome, and a good morning.
Conveyed with conviction, it was touching and heartwarming;
So, not just hot coffee which warmed me that morning.
Whenever my touring took me near that shop,
I always made it a point to make a stop.
The young lady would hit me again and again;
With the brightest of smiles, a welcome, and a good morning.
And it wasn’t just me she treated in this manner;
All who came in received the same banter;
I had only been there but maybe thrice;
When it occurred to me, everyone in the place was nice;
It seems that smiles and kind words are some sort of disease;
Contagious and infectious they spread through a place;
And soon are emanating from every face;
I hope that I have made my case,
That a smile and some kindness can vaccinate,
From the depressions that afflict the human race.
An echo of lovesome passion, an inspiration of unborn theme,
A muse hypnotic, adept at composing aspirations of my dream,
Omnipresent voice of being, poetry is my love, eternal as time,
Shaping expressions of mind, embellishing moments sublime.
Strumming music enamored, resounding from tenor of heart,
Humming chorus of life, emanating tunes lauding poetic art;
Melodies I compose, musings inimitable, to her they belong,
Lyrics woven in waltzing words; she’s been a refrain of my song.
She is sunshine glinting my day, a shiny star glistening my night,
My companion on journeys opulent, she’s been my utmost delight;
Yet, the contours of her bold imagination, I cannot ever define,
Neither can I restrict her freedom, nor her notions can I confine.
Moody yet engaging, fondly she paints tapestries of my mind,
Luring me to paradise~ metaphors, simile, cogently designed,
Tiptoeing in my amorous view, enticing me with reveries anew,
Softly as sun’s crimson rays, twinkle gems from morning dew.
Poetry is my spring, she is my summer, she’s elixir for my soul,
She’s fuchsia beauty on rosy arc of dawn, doting sights extol;
Alluring, charming, she’s resplendence gold, of autumn’s show,
She’s pure, snow-covered meadows, a season of falling snow.
Paradoxically, slavery showed equanimity—
Its suffering displayed no discrimination;
We all shared equally, its debilitation,
And were equally denied any sympathy
Over the Middle Passage odyssey;
Black men were prized; and black women too;
Children were also part of the stolen crew—
You see, when it came to you, the children and me,
Misery was equally shared by the slave family;
A strange institution indeed, was chattel slavery—
Its bitter legacy equally shared by today’s black family;
Heirs to the cruel legacy, lets fight ‘til we’re all totally free.
Rise up black man! Rise up black woman! Rise up black child!
No longer be defiled! We’ve already too many centuries to reconcile!
within the under belly of
this hob bull ling Leviathan beast
induced roaring hungry soundcloud issued
within abdominal folds
finding they in creased
never diminishing, matter
whether I turn north, south, west or east
this adult desired,
soon after he envisioned
buttered crispy dish eyed fancily feast
culinary cut throat Michelin meisters
(pit a less lee) pitted
against Pillsbury doughboy greased
imaginatively gobbling hectare
thousand island inlaid
juiced kickstarting least
unable to pay thee Monsieur's consigliere –
damn, hard cold cash just shy by a nickle
aye first taken got taken hostage
as a wreck loose poet,
the anti write cadre
strip searched
every stitch of clothes I wore,
then subjected me to an aye tip pickle
pun hush ment,
where this deplorable basket case
stood aghast as hounds from hell
got loosed by thee Don Rickle
lathered canine chops
slapped by foamy salivating tongues
poised to ham er and
make mince meat out this pop sickle
but...lo and behold, as vicious
snooping doggy dogs
approached within a hair breadth
minecrafted fingers fluttered
in the air asper ready to tickle
whereat the snarling killers (bon jove)
rolled with faux pas in the air
kicking, laughing (or a similar
fox simile thereof),
inciting Major Domo tuff flair
his nostrils (like...well
an amazing dragon)
with blood red eyes didst glare
while fur sprouted over his bare skin
honor ably dispelling every last hair
which bizarre circumstance, an opportunity
to escape from this thieving Magpie lair
approved by the ghost of Rossini,
who suddenly prestidigitatiously
magically brought to my defense William Tell
(in the guise oven
instant activating App) pull lick caisson
thus juiced by a whisker avoiding a scare.
Perhaps the realm where dormant ideas germinate
will coalesce into sturdy tomes even if posthumously late
recognition gets affianced with a memorialized slate
where no body will lie,
cuz this mortal will get his ashes sprinkled
intermixed with wildlife,
who will unknowingly consecrate and sanctify
rack and pinion traction,
where dost dust will fertile lies
to become reincarnated
via blessings sans creatures who defecate or urinate.