Long Sonata Poems
Long Sonata Poems. Below are the most popular long Sonata by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sonata poems by poem length and keyword.
Crimes of passion
I break into your heart
And I steal your love
I caress and labor
All your hurts are gone
And I seem to realize
That your all I have left
So I throw my hands up
Yes, I give up, I confess
I have robbed you once to often
The police have me surrounded
And I seem unlawful
But my love for you is justice to my plead
If convicted you see, I plead insanity
Crimes of love
Have I been convicted of
And all I have to defend myself
Is just cause
I caress and labor
All your hurts are gone
And I seem to realize
That your all I have left
So I throw my hands up
Yes, I give up, I confess
I have robbed you once to often
The police have me surrounded
And I seem unlawful
But my love for you is justice to my plead
If convicted you see, I plead insanity
Your honor I am guilty of stealing her love
I just got caught up in crimes of love
from anthology "Sweet Sonata"
11/10/17
by James Edward Lee Sr.
The Waves of Time
Lying here on my luminous beach.
So heavenly soft, I declare I am resting on cotton candy.
Too ecstatic and in a state of mystical relativity.
Listening to the fingers of the sea, massage the shores with utmost
tenderness.
The umbrellas made of bamboo leaves, play a sea sonata for me.
Hasten! Do lie with me on this beach of magical dreams.
We'll just grasp hands fervently and allow body and soul to traverse
the universe, giftedly
And acquiesce in wonder as the waves of time to baptize us!
In a star-dusted,gardenia-filled,most fragrant,
exotic, and total wondrous majesty and wanderlust!
October 4, 2019
Listen closely and hear spring’s beautiful sonata.
It comes to sweep the winter’s gloom away.
It is the cheerful singing of the robin
and the birds from the south returning
to greet the splendid season of rebirth.
Hear it in the flitting of the butterflies
and in Zephyr’s whispers falling on your skin.
Hear it in the drone of the honeybees,
in the rush of rills, and in
the pattering of rain from April’s showers.
Sight, sound, taste and smell combine in spring’s sonata.
Clouds swirl pink and meadow flowers bloom
in breezes of enchantment.
Hearts melt and sing along with it.
Thoughts ripple to its tune with new-found hope.
Oh, to smell fruit trees’ blossoms swaying in the wind;
leaves turned green and grasses swaying too.
Souls wish to dance to the many sights and sounds.
Bluebells seem to ring, and tulips bend in many hues.
Even polliwogs undulate in ponds to spring’s sonata.
Buttercups lie brightly underneath
a plenitude of honeyed rays dripping from the sun.
Inhale the fragrance of spring’s sonata.
Taste its rain and view its iridescent bow
that stretches as a promise across God’s azure skies.
They kept telling her to leave!
But her heart didn't hear their
loud thumping voices.
Like an idiot staying up all night,
this grandmother,quite old,
Physically worn out, decided it
was time to fold.
After all, few years had she left!
She put away her quill in her oak
desk, more than bereft.
Knowing to them she was nothing but
a "thumbs down."
But knew that was fine, as one
day, she would wear a heavenly
crown.
Loathed because she was a patriot!
Knew truth, not lassoed by fake
news lariats!
Glad she was in the PS Anthology,
She grinned with humble satisfaction.
Staring at her friend.the lone, moonlit
Oak tree.
The quill rustled softly in it's velvet
green holder.
No quitter, she, hard times always made
her far bolder.
12/19/20320
A storm is brewing,
and a long night begins.
Dark clouds fill the horizon,
thunder shakes the sky.
Soon the night will cry,
and wind will rush through an open window,
raising curtains in a spiral lift.
Lightning flashes,
the room fills with dancing shadows.
A silhouette sits at a piano,
playing a sad sonata.
One two three,
one two three,
one two three.
The storm reflects the emotion,
fingers move across the ivory keys of sorrow,
trying to forget.
Loneliness the master of ceremony,
lightning the only audience,
thunder the only applause,
and the night cries.
contest A Storm is Brewing
4/16/16
What pride and joy for me to delight,
albeit vicariously upon receiving invite,
sans commencement at
Redmond Proficiency Academy
on May twenty second at six o'clock at night,
which arrangement to Maurice silly revel
from afar, viz pomp and circumstances quite
emotional, ah...I can feel exuberance
listening to Sir Edward
Elgar - Pomp and Circumstance
March Number 1 - right
amidst envisioned glorious sight,
this prodigal beloved
young lady Marleigh Dunning, aye write
a precious prized progeny,
with modesty all agleam
no doubt with beauty, she twill beam
dazzling full house, electrifying audience
asper her due smarts, i.e. creme de la creme
top honors, and accolades galore
relishing hearty applause, and teary eyes
left for this estranged bro attempting to dream,
how proud such progressive parents
Andy (by the way belated happy birthday),
and Shari dear sister my apology, harried self esteem
(mine), who nonetheless takes stock,
how promising success story doth appear
will take said niece far and wide,
which whiz kid will quick buckle down and clear
as pitch perfect cerulean sky will engineer
experiential opportunities, whose cerebral gear
far and above this average hear
suit uncle late in his existence
admires brilliant storied
future awaiting thee
acquiring an equitable salary
persevering toward passion,
vis a vis art history
with a minor in chemistry,
abundant wit and wisdom
so blessed born free
to choose bajillion options
soon to matriculate at Ivy
League school, perhaps
becoming rich and famous
as hordes of paparazzi
furiously jostle and elbow
to savor opportunity
as demure, genteel, as ideal
exemplar of female human poise -
ladies and gentlemen the renown Marleigh,
whose shining moment under klieg lights,
this financially strapped poet
unable to rejoice in person, qua special day
duet to a pinched finances
arising when Hyundai Sonata,
thrice necessitated monetary outlay!
I watch pink-blue horizons
as visions of your face
fade in the sinking sun
your footprints linger in the haze.
Reflections of white satin seas
open and shut walls
the Elysium of endless dreams
where shadow and light fall.
Nameless on these pages
weaving sweet tapestry
in sonnets, poetic sequences
as every word comes rapidly.
Secrets of your heart
Touched by subtle motions
Rising with a rising star
At the start of profuse notions.
Gems of topaz
on your caramel hands
sun rain angels’ dance
in a lover’s trance.
Let me play a sonata
as silver moons glide
the muse, Hakuna Matata
you by my side.
Every inch of you is beautiful
curves, your body petite
yesterdays were forever few
I lay pearls at your feet.
I disappear into an ocean of people
leaving paths of sweet jade
until we meet again in the regal
among diamond blue shades.
I swallowed a clock and it never struck twelve.
Now time drips from my ribs in Morse code,
each tick a prayer carved in reverse.
The stars forgot my name,
so I renamed myself after things that break quietly,
a bruise in the shape of a hymn,
a mirror that bleeds only under moonlight.
There’s a violin growing behind my lungs,
strings pulled taut with the nerves I never learned to silence.
Every breath is a sonata of knives,
still, I play it sweetly,
as if pain is just another way to stay melodic.
He touched me like an eclipse touches the sun,
brief, devastating, impossible to look at.
I didn’t burn. I became the shadow.
Something softer than ash,
but just as forgotten.
The ocean inside me has no shore.
It loops in on itself like a lie I told too well,
saltwater laced with syllables I choked on,
his name,
folded into the lining of my stomach
like a secret I mistook for hunger.
I wrote love letters on paper made of smoke,
sealed them with the blood of a voice I no longer use.
They vanished in the wind,
or maybe into him.
He was always good at absorbing storms
and pretending they were rain.
The saints won’t take me.
I burned my wings for warmth too early
and now I sleep inside the furnace of what I couldn’t say.
Even silence has a temperature.
Mine rests somewhere between longing and combustion.
I dream in algebra.
His face is always x,
unknown, unsolvable,
but rooted deep in the math of me.
If you ever find my ghost,
don’t call it a haunting.
Call it a rhythm.
A heartbeat trapped in a hallway.
A pulse too stubborn to quit.
Listlessly marooned last mile
fading fast into obscurity
beyond the unfurled tapestry of twilight zone,
the ambiguous path
seeking definition in configured mystique metaphor
engraved within the penumbra of panorama
outside my kaleidoscopic winsome window,
the mirror of mirage
on the world of fervent framework
constructing the instrument of my thoughts.
The montage momentary of esoteric exuberance
the euphoric lattice weaved engagingly
by the momentous strands of cadenced zephyr
the swirling sagacity of mesmeric menagerie
on an en echelon flight,
the design of delight
choreographed by the cloud clumps
in the exaltation sky of scarlet sunset,
the spectrum serenading still
the song of silence
tuned to the tranquil melody
of the spirit stimulant
for the formless façades of life unlived
languishing in the cascading crescendo
of the symphony of emotion,
as the ecstatic fervor flows entranced
in the stream of sonata,
transcripts untarnished in the mindscape
the pageant of immutable images
of the timeless sands transfixed
and the faceless people turned to shadows
while their silhouettes shroud the beauty of life
the ephemeral essence conducts
the symphony of memory.
I see out my window
transiently framed eternity
take furtive f l i g h t.
171 E Swedesford Rd,
Unexpected positive experience
with regular totally tubular
gnarly patron first name Maureen
hmm... if only this burbling blurb
blog could somehow
be communicated - pro bono, cuz green
legal tender (mine) scarce -
anyway earlier
today December sixteenth
two thousand and nineteen
ah, my dog how serendipitously
I did germanely, modestly,
quintessentially shepherd convenient
rhyme with reason (hubble spontaneity)
three, five, eight, plus
this line thirteen...
(you get the idea, si?)
with eyes shut tight e'en
absentmindedly maneuvering "fake"
steering wheel, while zee queen
(think four foot eleven
spouse wearing spongebob
pajama pants) profusely thanked
police seeing eye dog approaching
and barking unforeseen
drove sitting on his haunches
on driver seat cop cruiser
smack dab nabbit
on our figurative docked toured tail
emulating crash test dummy
nearly didst almost careen
into our two thousand
and nine Hyundai Sonata
gave spouse faux paw high five
while flock of seagulls,
eagles, black crows...,
attired with red and green
holiday outfits suddenly appeared clean
(white hove out blizzard)
out of thin air nearly collided
with our self driving
automobile I amazingly
gratefully dodged tween
twenty plus miles north east
back to Schwenksville,
Pennsylvania, where this mean,
(once lean twice shy)
poetry (aye sup prose) writing machine,
now exuberant poet hoping
to garner (no bull lariat) keen
punny hush meant toward anybody
including trumpeting mujahedeen
hoot aches objection, which
courtesy self typing keyboard really
cool and groovy power
(smart thinkpad) reads my mind
pressing corresponding key visible
on Lenovo external large screen.