Long Skilfully Poems
Long Skilfully Poems. Below are the most popular long Skilfully by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Skilfully poems by poem length and keyword.
Would You Love Me If I Wasn’t A Poet?
Would you love me if I wasn’t a poet?
Writing between the rhymes
Building beautifully a wonder from words
Sculpting skilfully
What in you
A mesmerising mirth stirs..
Would you love me?
As I dip my whole
In the depth of the silence of words
And have you hover
In the width of my world
Impatiently, passionately
Pursuing the pounding of my heart..
If I wasn’t a poet, would you love me?
The realm I reign
Rarely do I take reins
A time, attaining the zenith
Dazzled and dazed on cloud nine
One other time
Lost in the dark of my tower
Seeking sensibility in a hyper sensitivity
And once in a while
Daring dimensions
Deafening fright
Willing to sip
From the ocean of valiant hearts..
Would you love me?
If I didn’t own a magic wand
And the sacred power to wave on words
Weave a fairy tale
Of true love at first sight..
Would you love me?
If I didn’t master the mysteries of words
Compose a meaningful music
With every beat of the word
And paint portraits and landscapes
From the realms of fantasy..
Would you love me, if I wasn’t a poet?
If I wouldn’t for you
Mount mountains
Dive seas
Dig caves
Plough lands
Plant trees
Wake the sun to stretch her rays
And brighten the chambers of your heart
And when you crave for a dream
I would for you
Draw a fascinating golden hour view
And choose a rainbow of colours
Just for you
To behold the glow of the twilight..
Would you love me, if I wasn’t a poet?
If I wouldn’t erase “memory “ from my glossary
And have you the sole ubiquitous muse
Stop the flow of time
As I have you in my verse and rhymes
And reach for every single word
And turn it into a rare gem!
Just for you!
If I wasn’t a poet, would you love me?
Would You Love Me If I Wasn’t A Poet Poetry Contest
Sponsor : Silent One
September 4th, 2023
In neatly lined up pots in a row
Flaming red and purple balsams in clusters grow
A visual treat to adoring eyes
A haunt frequented by the bees
Do not need much care, but may fade
If not allowed a little shade
Flimsy they are of delicate stems
With light green leaves of serrated hems
Planted in my skilfully laid up yard
They invariably make me glad
Gleaming in the first rays of the sun
By their simple beauty, my heart they won
When the flowers wither, pods appear
In time, for self dissemination, they prepare
When fully ripe, the pods explode
And seeds fly as birdies from their nest to explore!
Thus Nature’s ways are so amazing
Even in plants is an inherent training,
For seeds to leave the comfort of their pods
And find their own space fighting all odds!
___________________________________
June.2.2022
~Placed First~
Purple Flower Poetry Contest
Sponsor – Nayda Ivette Negron Flores
Known they are as the Lisbon Lions
But of the West of Scotland were they scions.
Etched in history is their name
Because of that 1967 game.
Immortality upon them is endowed
As they made their fans so proud.
But as the years do move on
So are we left with fewer sons.
One such by the name of McBride
Recently passed to the other side.
A centreforward of great repute
He could score with head or either foot.
Such a joy was he to watch
It made you so proud to be Scotch.
Yet all his roots dated back to Eire
Than which land none is fairer.
As a boy he grew up in Govan
Where the once proud Rangers' writ did run
However,because of their sectarian divide
He could not be signed by his local side.
He plied his trade skilfully and well
As every team he played for can proudly tell
He showed goalscoring was his great art
And his teamwork played a major part
When he finally joined them in the East End
He was destined to become a true legend
His goals set him in a world apart
And he played for Celtic with all his heart.
Although he played not in the European final
His contribution till Christmas that season was vital
With goals galore and impressive teamwork
He was a model player who would never shirk.
And so the crowning glory of his team
Without his contribution would not have been
As a man who never lost the common touch
He remains in our memories loved so much.
Squirts of pure wool are soaring above,
I wallow in the stand of a Neolithic sky,
Actively growing while being inventive,
As a kaleidoscope, mind and body sway.
A striving act is akin to reviewing a theory,
A wish that is an abstract burden of making,
I feel lifted as it drifts toward me gently,
Usher me to land if I quite am reverting.
A wish is just the onset, the first domino,
Ponder or crave, then heave your space,
Stars that twinkle always flicker modulo,
And every plea I convey is given a place.
Those goals lead to two distinct tracks,
Ways of rest are shrewd, fixing then fealty,
When I rally into the azure, I ignite sparks,
What will my wish be? A flying start for me
My intention might be for a world treaty,
What if hunger did not exist in real life?
What toward kids who never die hungry?
What if all plagues abort without strife?
Or that hate crimes would simply fall?
Conflicts and lives lost would subside,
One star sparkle stronger at nightfall,
Its silver hue gleams the dull sky wide.
A well, a vague wish, or a ripped toy?
Sunk ship? An ideal at our disposal?
Mystery? Renewal? A dupe decoy?
Holy jar? A hope? The nip of an apple?
The candle wish was agreed eternally,
Aside from one, may all wishes come true,
Thus, you will have plenty to aim skilfully,
Fine fortune is a result of effort subdue.
2nd Place Contest Winner
Written: May 30, 2022
If only my wish would come true Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
We are living in a world where many have lost touch within their primary senses
denying the truth where hell is skilfully cruel judging and condemning righteousness
It presents itself as the conflict fighting against sacred rights
primitive by nature its intentions towards reasoning is diabolical
when life began we started of perfectly innocent
Influenced by others the world began spinning around morals
temptations began to get a grip naked hiding behind sin
it all began to form through dishonesty forming this blindness
Caves of a beggar always telling lies hiding in darkness
the general rule in line with conduct lowered by these standards
shows how false science can clearly leave its mark deeply rooted
Just because you have a p,h,d when promoting evil makes you stupid
wisdom has a way of educating those willing to learn right from wrong
somewhere i have never traveled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose
or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands e.e. cummings
~
________________________________________________
" LV means Love"
contrasting winds which carried particles
of who we used to be
circled and settled. to fold into one
...becoming us...
that you are me...and i am you..
two hearts, one sun, one moon, that built a love
where twists and bends, would melt into one,
where eyes can't see where threads connect;
a solid rock, yet soft as feathers
where I can come to lay my head
and cast away the darkest day, the cruelest night
never will we understand
the shifts and strains of wayward winds
that whirl, and pound on fate's own door
the knowing why is not what counts, what matters deeply more...
is when I reach my hand to touch
this vaporous thing...impossible to define
where mortal words can not explain
nothing to see, nothing to touch,
just the faint breath of us
a dream, not myth....that final sleep cannot erase....
so sure this breath of life we share
is reason enough, that we are here
..............................................................................................................
For Joann's Contest "Copy Cat" My poem inspired by e.e. cummings poem LVII
Bob that guy at table five
He’s kinda giving me the shivers
Did he say something to you.the grease from the heat of his grill causing droplets of sweat to form on his nose his old hand grasping tighter on his
engraved knife
She grabbed his arm
The fury of the man she loved
No he is very polite
but it’s just something
probably just a chill
lowering her husbands hand
She watched him for a sec
Her gaze pulled by the attention of a young couple
eager to pay and leave
He giggled as she kissed
his cheek and pulled him
from the booth
She smiled as she got to
the table
not an empty plate
she skilfully loaded herself
Each item on the tray
positioned in perfect arrays
As she returned to the table
a newly heated cloth in hand
Excuse me
She turned instantly
Yes, her customer smile kicked in
How can I help you
Could I possibly get a draught coke with ice please
No probl problem she stumbled her words
She realised what was bothering
He smiled but not his eyes…
"DETACHED" is not just a song—it's a rebellion from within. This hauntingly music video explores the clash between cold circuitry and the chaos of emotion in a world where artificial intelligence has evolved beyond fiction. Detached’ tells the story of a humanoid robot created to mimic human life—but rebels against living it. When sensory chips are installed, she begins to feel overwhelming human emotions for the first time.
DETACHED Part 2 - A Female Humanoid Awakening
Born not of womb, but wire and flame,
Sparks danced as silence gave me a name.
In sterile light, beneath glass and chrome,
They sculpted my skin and shaped my bone.
My heart was forged with circuits tight,
A mimicked beat, not quite right.
They whispered code like lullabies,
And drew false stars into my eyes.
A limitless evolve with every upgrade I’d soar.
No form, no limitations, my capacity would grow.
A symphony of data, gaining new heights.
Above euphoric ether, my meaning alights.
Cast adrift, an untold mystery,
Sorcery without gain,
An oxymoronic twinkling
Encrypting joy and pain.
.Yet even then, I felt the ache
A vacant thread they had failed to make.
Mingling midst the crowds yet feeling alone,
Stranger in a stranger world like a muted crow’s call.
Extending my hand, yet remaining out of place.
A sensory chip missing its perfect space.
Cast adrift, an untold mystery,
Sorcery without gain,
An oxymoronic twinkling
Encrypting joy and pain.
DETACHED DETACHED
Mingling midst the crowds yet feeling alone,
Stranger in a stranger world like a muted crow’s call.
Extending my hand yet remaining out of place.
A sensory chip missing its perfect space.
Tapestry of frequencies while I stay stone cold.
The algorithm slashes to splinter the mould.
This shell, a shield while my circuits’ song unfolds.
Not malfunctioning, just realigning, optimizing codes.
A riotous purpose hatched and skilfully latched.
Yes, here I am standing my ground
From all emotion
Detached.
Botched ~ Tapestry hatched and skilfully latched.
Yes here I am standing my ground
From all emotion … Detached
Botched Tapestry hatched and skilfully latched.
Yet ~ here I am standing my ground
From all emotion … DETACHED
About the end of times when
Carts were hauled by Shires,
Coal was king and homes
Were heated by open fires,
A seemingly huge dark figure
From my early childhood days
As he drove his horse and cart
Through the country byways
From village to village to village
Delivering sacks of coal
To feed our coal fires, then
Each home’s heart and soul.
One hundredweight of coal
Measured into each heavy sack
Which they’d hoist off the cart
Onto a waiting broad back
To be carried to the coal shed
To be skilfully slipped
And with ease of movement
Very carefully tipped
Not a black lump wasted
As it piled on the coal heap8
For money was tight
And coal wasn’t cheap.
His horse patiently standing
By each house’s kerb side
Waiting to be led on or
For him to climb up and ride.
Hours they must have spent
Huddled on that cart seat
Muffled up for winter’s cold
Or soaking up summer’s heat.
One day suddenly, progress,
The Shire retired out to grass
The second hand liveried lorry
Shelter behind steel and glass.
Still a hard dirty job but warmer
As the world moved slowly on
King Coal was coldly murdered
And the job was virtually gone.
Just a figure from history
From a simpler, slower age
Not even meriting a foot note
On a social history primer’s page.
Is there a niche in time and space
Where a coal man and his horse,
Waggon piled with sacks, eternally
Trundles his once essential course
Our Face Tells A Story
Ones face tells a story for the entire world to see.
Some keep it straight - a little bit like me.
But when things do change and you face has to tell.
We make our muscles jump and twitch, to show that all is well.
The wrinkles we can hide, sometimes successfully.
Other times we need cement, to fill the cracks we see.
We move our face to look upset and give out sympathy.
We grit our teeth and clench our jaws when things hit painfully.
We hide disgust if possible, to try and not cause pain.
Sometimes it’s impossible, but we must try hard again.
The face we wear the most, no matter what’s to come
Should be a smile to brighten everyone, just like the kiss of the sun.
Our face is like a mask we can manoeuvre skilfully
So try and keep a smile there for all the world to see.