Long Smallest Poems
Long Smallest Poems. Below are the most popular long Smallest by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Smallest poems by poem length and keyword.
~
Why is the sky so much darker
When did the sun start to set
So many shadows are falling my pathway
Hoping my heart can forget
What is the meaning of never
Can I still stand on my own
How could you leave me out here in the darkness
Hiding these fears I have sown
Can you not see I am crying
Pleading with stars in the sky
Calling your name till the heavens are reeling
Seeking the day passing by
Empty my dreams they have fallen
Shattered this earth down below
Collections of feelings stretched long in the mist
Anguish felt ever so slow
Echoes the branches are swaying
Silhouettes pointing at me
Staring upon every sorrow now spoken
Here in this night I can see
If in your heart you find waiting
Even the smallest refrain
Hear of my words for I beg you to listen
I need you, please love me again
Majestic Eagle
Imagine the sights
of an eagle's keen eyes,
gracefully gliding
through soaring blue skies.
Dominion she known
since the earliest days,
Kings of the air
even natives would praise.
Regal in nature
with confident class,
no movement unseen
should her eyes chance to pass.
A warrior hunter
with valor and grace,
no match is her prey
in the predators race.
The size of her talons
are gripping with fear,
while the smallest of sounds
can't escape from her ears.
A life like a Phoenix
amidst it's ascension,
worthy of honor,
respect and attention.
Her powerful wings
a sight to behold,
so fitting her castings
are polished in gold.
Sharp as a razor
her beak takes its prey.
a natural warrior's predator way.
Aside from her grandeur
of honor and pride,
the eagle is from
whom the rest of all hide.
No match for
her majesty, power and size,
even great owls
find respecting her wise.
I know you are searching for a reason
A reason to keep moving when everything feels pointless?
You look around,?
And it seems like the world is full of people with answers,?
But you are left with nothing but questions.
Why am I here?
?What's the point of all this pain?
I get it?
The emptiness you feel isn't something you can put away?
It's a hole in your soul,
?A space that longs to be filled with meaning,?
With purpose
But listen, purpose isn't always a grand revelation?
It's not a sudden moment where everything clicks
?It's found in the smallest actions
Purpose is in the survival,?
In the art of just being here today,?
Even when everything within you says, "Give up."
Your purpose is not tied to your pain.?
You are not your struggle?
There is more inside of you than you can see right now
You are not invisible?
You are the thread in the fabric of the universe,?
And without you, the world is incomplete
Purpose doesn’t need to make sense yet
It just needs you to keep going?
Because even the smallest light is enough to guide you
You will find it?
But first, you need to keep breathing
You are meant to be here?
You are meant to live
I carry hurt like borrowed blame, As if my pain should wear my name, Like every wound and every scar, Proves some how i wont go far, I gave my heart with open hands, While others broke what they did not understand, I stayed through cold through lies and pain, And somehow still i get left in the rain, They took my kindness for weakness, Every harsh word like i was useless, I bent so much to keep the peace, That parts of me become to cease, Now every mirror seems to say, That i was the problem anyway, That maybe i was born to lose, To ache endure and be misused, The mirror shows a tired face, A soul that's slowly lost its place, My smile appears then it fades to fast, Like something fragile is meant to last, I move through days as shadows do, Half awake and breaking through, The smallest things make me cry, Although i dont let no one see and i dont know why, My heart feels worn and thoughts run deep, yet every night i can not sleep, I miss the person i once knew, The lighter soul that once felt true, Every tear i hide away, Returns again by end of the day, And though i try to still appear whole, Exhaustion echoes through my soul, Maybe some storms are not ment to end, And someone like me ain't ment to mend, Surviving is all I have known, Suffering is starting to feel like home
A nation with the southernmost capital in the globe
whose identity has constantly been bullied
by the global acknowledgement of a larger one.
A place where economic empowerment comes through films
to the point a movie employed a minister for maximum harvest.
No name longer than that of a Hill in Hawkes Bay;
no part of the country is more than
hundred and a thirty kilometer from the sea;
no nation is least succulent for the biting teeth of corruption.
And no other has simultaneously graced females in all high national positions.
Isolation has ruled over its wild life
to make them manufacture accessories for unique survival.
The alpine parrots, ground dwelling Kiwis and the Kea bird
all congregate in its center of diverse bird species.
It is a log off site to snakes both local or immigrated
and a home to the world’s smallest Dolphin species;
second to none in the species of penguins
and land to the heaviest insect ever known in the world.
Imagination comes to life in the existence of a giant carnivorous snail
while Disney embraced reality through the mystery of Pelorus Jack.
Uniqueness in history is continuous
in this last populated habitable landmass in the world.
Is it a first time father at eleven and a century old?
Or the pioneering of plastic surgery in medical history?
Is it the appointment of a national wizard into government’s cabinet?
Or the historic climbing adventures of Edmund Hilary?
So concerned about the Queen’s safety and its territorial defense
is such a region attributed to the long white cloud
with its blue lake- the world’s clearest waters
and its ‘women’s-right-on-voting” pride;
It’s still flabbergasting to realize five out of every hundred
of its population is human; the rest simply animals.
Sherlock
I met a man on the internet, but he’s not for me to date
He seems ok because he has a dog he loves, so I think I am too late.
The dog was given a name of notable English fame
He used to live on 221b Baker Street and Sherlock was his name.
Poor Sherlock has sore eyes, so they sent him to Dr Bart
He had to have a lid lift to keep the lids apart.
Poor Sherlock is now home and feeling very sad
A cone around his head, he wants to sleep with mum and dad.
Sherlock is a bloodhound, not the smallest dog
He sleeps with mum and dad and daddy writes his blog.
Dad has found a use for Sherlock with his cone around his head
He places him in the garden for free satellite instead.
Get Well Soon Sherlock
Upon a whim arising on this sunny springtime morn
hearing birds perform their songs at the crack of dawn
my knapsack packed already with a tasty picnic lunch
bread with cheese and wine
oh such a scrumptious tasty brunch
so full of joie de vivre am I for the day ahead
a slow ascent upon the bus as we reach *Beachy Head
then on to Belle Tout lighthouse where I alight instead
for on this glorious sunny day
in springtime sunshine I’ll make hay
Catching the light in stripes red and white
warning all mariners of dangers at night
a beacon of hope in a cobalt blue sea
her beam shining out majestically
Meandering gently nature's gifts I espy
a host of golden cowslips as if sprinkled from the sky
perchance if Wordsworth had beheld such beauty as have I
his host of golden daffs would have a rival for to vie
wafting gently in the breeze their lemon coloured blooms
a more stunning sight is seldom seen on sunny afternoons
I wander through the woodlands approaching Birling Gap
uneven ground negotiated, avoiding a mishap
then I espy the smallest orchid I have ever seen
with purple blooms and spotty leaves
exquisite flowers I could gaze for hours
secreted for her own protection
her subliminal message for all…
‘Please do not disturb me as
you stand here to observe me
for my beauty - my shape - my hue
and please leave me in situ, for all who pass just like you
as they pause awhile admiring the view’
Written April 2019
Contest Strand any form any theme
Sponsor Brian Strand
1st PLACE
*At 152 metres Beachy Head is the highest of Britain’s chalk sea cliffs, attracting nearly half a million visitors each year. The name ‘Beachy Head’ is believed to be a corruption of the original French, meaning ‘beautiful headland’. Some of the flora and fauna to be found at Beachy Head are purple and bee orchids, bluebells, primroses, cowslips, oxslips and hedgerows crowned in white - baby lambs and wild seas and so much more - just stunning!
Patience has always been hard for me, I wanted what I wanted NOW,
and of course that does not always happen, so there was let down, and
tears of failure. BUT, I have taught myself self-control and restraint, to have
internal calmness and composure, to have the endurance to wait, for I think
everything worth having is worth waiting for, working for, suffering for, as
nothing is a guarantee, so it is important to give what you wish time to
come to be at the right time, in the right way, to work toward it because
even the smallest task, or the biggest dream takes patience to achieve.
______________________
July 11, 2020
Poetry/Acrostic/Patience
Copyright Protected, ID 20-1267-716-03
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
I Hear Your Silence,
I Know Your Smile,
I Feel Your Love,
I See Through Your Eyes,
I Touch Your Mouth,
I Kiss Your Lips,
I Miss Your Touch,
I Feel Your Presence,
It's All Around Me.
You Are Still Here,
Your Body Is Gone,
Your Soul Taken By God,
But,
You Are Here With Me,
Everyday I Notice You,
In The Smallest Ways,
I Can See You Now,
As I Look Into My Mirror.
There Is A Tiny Speck,
Of Angel Dust,
In My Eye,
I Shall Leave It There,
For All Time,
Until One Day,
When We Meet Again,
And Walk Together,
On,
The Other Side.
(Vickie Thayer Poetess 2009)
It's cloudy here.
Like a stormy sea, with wind howling and waves surfing on the surface.
I see minds blinded by evolution.
Weight on shoulders, depression from screams,
Eyes, falling diamonds
People trapped like fluid in a container with swollen stomachs.
Take me back to those days when life was like a garden with sunshine.
When our frame of mind wasn't lost, and we never had to compare ourselves to everyone on the internet who appeared to be over the moon.
When women didn't have to dwell on make-up or run naked on the street, all because of beauty.
Those times, we would climb the roof and occasionally fall like a thousand bricks.
But we would learn to take off passionately, like a rocket ship, rather than wail.
Then, human minds weren't so degraded by just making money and gaining recognition.
We acquired skills.
Made a rainbow after a storm and focused on still water.
We had giant boxes with real music, and our lives were black and white, which was powerful.
But color appeared in technological flames that enchanted the eyes.
Yes! Life has improved with computers in our hands, but beneath these benefits lies another side of the story.
Our joy eludes our world because of avarice, while we bathe ourselves in insomnia and addiction that are nugatory.
Vampires attack mockingbirds from the sky for moving dirt.
Earthly entities take things for granted.
like broken balloons to fine wine
Now, youths look down their noses and sow their wild oats due to our little foxes and darkness.
Our social interactions are like hitting the hay daily with no utterance.
Yep, even the smallest prefers punching an iPad to pouring hearts on the dining table.
Reminisce deeply.