Long Spelling Poems
Long Spelling Poems. Below are the most popular long Spelling by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Spelling poems by poem length and keyword.
The poppies opened like small red mouths along the ditch beside the road.
No one heard them, but I saw the thick white milk sticky on her hands.
They drank the rain, the ash, the long shadows of evening, and I thought: perhaps this is how sorrow grows— not as a storm, but as a flower fed by invisible roots.
Addiction came quietly.
Not as a wolf, but as a nurse holding out a cup of sleep, a handful of forgetting, a promise that pain could be folded away like winter clothing.
I swallowed.
The days became rooms without windows.
My mind became a house where every mirror showed a stranger.
My doctor named the darkness, that I called.
The darkness did not answer, behind my eyes.
It sat beside my bed combing its black hair with fingers made of years, whispering that tomorrow was only another spelling of yesterday.
Outside, the poppies burned.
A field of little wounds opening to the sun, each petal bright enough to resemble hope, fragile enough to become dust.
I stood among them, carrying all the ghosts that illness had gathered, all the empty bottles, all the unfinished prayers.
The wind moved through the flowers.
For a moment they looked like flames.
For a moment they looked like blood.
For a moment they looked like hearts still trying to bloom inspite of everything.
Four Letters Spelling Blah...
generally define mine anatomical phooey zook
corporeal status, essentially feeling like gook,
not my usual babbling brook
self, thus finds yours truly whooshing, he
could wave a magic wand (all thee
while exjaculating abra
cud dab bra, or whatever
applicable spell -
spot on - to re:),
vivify mine pathetic sluggishness,
hashtagged with nauseous
tsunami waves, and inxs,
where these nada
so lovely brittle bones,
and atrophied muscles free
quint times this day
feel robbed of lee
ping lemurs (yule
grant me hyperbolic
indulgence) spirited energy
versus experiencing hypersensitivity,
which head toot
hoe soreness analogous
(ache and burn'n ken to
contracting the Amish Flu),
where this jumpy,
manicky, persnickety, rickety,
and totally tubular ancient
tomb mess scent body
finds ordinarily endeavoring
scribe this moment tub bee,
a little horse and bug gee
(in other words), aye
experience over sizeable
(bare ten able) boots
of dizz zee
ness (as if pitched to
and fro on rough sea),
where webbed venting
helps this wordsmith
to sum men strength
tube (boo hoo)
himself from bing nsync
king mode, sans (10,000
leagues...in Dave vee
Jones locker) as a dee
pull lore hubble skidrow re
sid divest news junk kee -
do dilling with zero hap pee
go luck key
ne'er do well bummer, I...he
barely exhibits signs
of life breathe
thing inaudibly inhaling
and exhaling wei
zing all the while
with pronounced je
nais sais quois nasality
emitted racking prithee
moren slight lee
jarring with achy breaky tree
men dose skeletal pain,
thus fuhr re hiss lee,
heavily relying on wing,
and broken prayer hope fool lee
fully helping this
old codger (yepper me)
do magical wonders to re: captcha
lapsed la pas suh zoo lee
infusing this corporeal being i.e.
once again me
with spirited resurgence.
Bonny orchid, yesterday I longed to see your face
It's radiance beamed out to me from some unspoken place
Outside on a cold, dark night
A million stars for candlelight
Then all at once a shooting star line-danced across the sky
Spelling out your name in cosmic ink, illuminescent dye
Once again inside a dream
My memory of it agleam
A quiet picnic dans un pré, music everywhere
A moment where I caught your eye through flowing windblown hair
You stood up and led me down
A cobbled path into a town
We dined on bread, raclette, and wine
You held my hand, yours lost in mine
The moment ceased to exist
When on your cheek I placed a kiss
Then you vanished into thin air
Now all alone and in despair
I called your name without fail
I searched for you to no avail
Then walked I back the the path alone
My tears fell on the cobbled stone
Sure you no more I would see
But there you were waiting for me
I ran towards you, my arms stretched wide
A warm embrace you then supplied
Not a word between us spoke
We disappeared then I awoke
I lost sight of you when
every flower in the world bloomed
because you were rising over the sky
I lost sight of you when
stars wheeled above the wide world
spelling out your name in flames beyond measure
I lost sight of you when
the rivers flowing from your hope
made the oceans forget to run dry
I lost sight of you when
the earth turned quietly around
to see you standing above all vision and treasure
I lost sight of you when
every word in the mouth of poetry
looked back across the centuries to your unquenchable flame
I lost sight of you when
memory folded itself back into the sea
and took the sands of time as silent punctuation
I lost sight of you when
heaven whispered snow on the ground
and left a blanket of sparkling lights to speak your name
I lost sight of you when
every eye was open to behold for the last time
the perfect vision of your angel radiance & incantation
I lost sight of you then
but never in my mind and heart will I lose sight
of your smile, so sweet, so utterly incandescent.
Never, ever, sweet Susan
will I lose sight of what you are and always were.
the only golden thing my heart ever dreamed of.
Christopher M. Swan, “Song of Susan,” 2008
when correct spelling eludes you write a different word
stay true to the anarchy poetry form make it up as you go
a haiku is just a Japanese limerick and a tad bit shorter
conceived on delicate sake rather than a stout Guinness
once the tongue is loosened and the audience plastered
any syllable count deceives what is meant to be voiced
at the end of a pub crawl harp and zither sound quite alike
shamisen and all strings attached resonate just the same
true to the nature of art what pleases with passionate sound
sometimes refuses to be squeezed into reverend lines
if one looks at some ever so famous writing one wonders
what kind of mushrooms inaugurated such magic outpour
on a more sober matter poetry is in the eye of beholders
dysphonia on steroids is a natural remedy for logophobia
one man’s incoherence is another one’s mythical calling
but courage is bravery however you wish to pronounce it
there was once a young man it Haikushima
illiterate is what he was called by Mama
who’s whiskey lacked lime
did not give a dime
when he spent a penny someone stole his thunder and drama
green fields and butterscotch clover
fragrance of Irish Oak blossoms -
lost for words the weather staid speechless
in case of any doubt in the mind of the affectionate reader
this poetry form is part of the extended self-critical monologue
style currently still in its experimental encrypted stage which
in its naive but raw and expressionate timbre is meant to confuse
03rd March 2021
Someday I'll get this sonnet writing right.
Sure, I can count ten syllables and rhyme,
then set my flock of metaphors to flight
and spin ten-dollar words from time to time.
My tiger-words I train with chair in hand
and meter's whip. Good syntax I require,
true spelling, decent rhythm - I demand
they jump iambically through hoops of fire.
I seek out synonyms with sound appeal
plus apt alliteration and aplomb,
but end up sacrificing soul and feel -
it rhymes; poetically though, it's a bomb.
To touch the heart is something you can't teach;
a tiger in a cage - just out of reach.
written 5 Aug 2020
(Seeing an old man walking out of a marriage registrar’s office with a young girl, two women talking…)
Retaining charm till old is art
More than the matter ‘tis of heart,
Look, unstirred, undeterred,
Caught he has a young bird—
The daughter of his old sweetheart,
Now hurt as if by Cupid’s dart!
And old habit as well
(An old man, a retired teacher, and his two sons invoke spirit to write on Ouija board, which makes a spelling mistake, and the old teacher would not allow it to go farther, quoting, a mnemonic device to remember spellings of words with ei or ie. )
Invoked, the ghost when came to be,
The planchette moved on its will free,
The old man still shouted:
Ye must recall, blockhead,
This: I ere E, save after C,
Look, there’s no C in grieve, it’s G.
________________________________
Tongue-in-cheek |07.07.2023| humour/rhyme
There's no reasonable explanation
To how this all went down
When the world woke up one morning
All made up as clowns
Not a single person in the world
Did this phenomenon not claim
With big red buttons on their chests
Spelling out new funny names
There was Patches and Petunia
Floppy and Cupcake
Winky and Bumper the Clown
Were just a few that they displayed
Everyone went about their business
Only now they all carpooled
You could see clowns piling out of cars everywhere
From businesses to stores to schools
Crime it did die down
Because all the guns that people have
Instead of shooting bullets
Shoot out brightly colored Big Bang Flags
Of course the circus lost its glamour
With an audience made up of clowns
It's hard to tell who's there enjoying
And who's entertaining all the crowds
People stopped taking each other seriously
Over anything they had to say
Pointing at each other and laughing
As they go about their day
Who knew a thing like this would happen
When the world went to bed last night
That the very next morning
They'd wake up clowns for life
Oh, I almost forgot the Politicians
Were the only ones to stay the same
It's already a simple known fact
When your a clown you don't need to change
Your brown eyes compel
Bring out this desire
Wishing to hide in
Your lapel, maybe
Upon a high wire
You touch the bell
Sparks will fly high
From your soft hand
Igniting flames
That only
Death will squelch
But maybe
I will
Love you
More
Contest: A Diminished Hexaverse
Sponsor: Caren Krutsinger
Date: January 16, 2021
1Your brown eyes compel 5
2Bring out this desire 5
3Wishing to hide in 5
4Your lapel, maybe 5
5Upon a high wire 5
6 0
7You touch the bell 4
8Sparks will fly high 4
9From your soft hand 4
10Igniting flames 4
11That only 3
12Death will squelch 3
13But maybe 3
14I will 2
15Love you 2
16More 1
Results
Grammar Mistakes
No embarrassing grammar mistakes found. Congrats!
Spelling Errors
No spelling mistakes found. Congrats!
Clichés
No clichés found. Congrats!
With the help from both The Askance and Ei-rian the Befallen
They lifted my tormented curse of the Heaori’s enchantment
And reborn once again, came renewed strength to serve once more The Goddess of Word
Yet the ancient land no longer thunders the voices of humanities to be heard
The uprising balance were rapidly dissolving away like dust
Soon after, the HolyWar cease to an erupt end, Alkzadrius had won at last
Every mortal found were slaughtered, none were to be kept alive
And traveling after many a year, I can only assume few to have survive
All this time, I’m manipulated by fear growing every a year
And fear no more I’m nay to surrender, to know now indeed you are here
As beholders of the Word, our destinies must we realize in time
Sworn with blood, darkness amidst The Ancients is once more to shine”
‘Every battle has its flaw
Every blood has its pain
Time is never a war
Yet peace never remain’
I awoke with a start, knowing nothing… knowing everything
Are there words to describe the world of Ancients in portraiture?
Isn’t at all what it seem, yet isn’t at all an ordinary dream
Perhaps the beauty of the unseen is the spelling of literature
I never would have thought to stumble upon the Mistress of War, Alkaiya
The emptiness within her eyes, casting reflections of a withered soul
Can us both alone be able to reclaim what seem lost forever?
To find the wealth of courage to walk once again the endless morrows
This silent night as I lay on my bed once more
I came to understand why the necessary sacrifices were made
If not for my death amid the time of the HolyWar
A lesson will not be taught and Alkaiya would long since be dead
I share your grief as well your cries, Ei-rian the Befallen
The love being love, where we had found… where we had lost
Our fate stains my tormented soul, torn and abandon
And I solemnly know, I can never return to being whom I ever was
Just today, I was dreaming some love I’ll never have
And now I’m all alone, remembering…beneath the last of a crying star
A soul never to be mine along with a blinded love had left
As Knight of the Word, the distance aforth must I walk so far
………………………………………………………….