Long Stern Poems
Long Stern Poems. Below are the most popular long Stern by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stern poems by poem length and keyword.
The storms, last night, adept in flash flood fright.
It’s good to stay inside until first light.
The day before, I stopped for gas, aghast
as I stepped out the wind and leaves did blast
around my core. My heart was beating quick,
and lightning struck, pounding its thunder stick.
The passenger behind me laughed - the draft
became a vortex vice from stern to aft.
It tried to sweep me off my feet, in dance.
The leaves, they twirled around in brief romance.
The tug and pull, the see and saw…the sweep
of sideways waterfall caused me to leap.
The enterprise a f f i n i t y of storm
invites its dalliance and quick perform.
I used to think poems lived in leather-bound books,
guarded by professors with stern looks,
that words worth speaking needed permission,
academic citations, scholarly submission.
I sat in corners swallowing syllables,
choking on metaphors I couldn't pronounce,
wondering why my tongue tied itself in knots
while others spoke verses smooth as river stones.
The first time I wrote something real,
my hands shook like autumn leaves.
I called it a draft, a sketch, a maybe-someday thing—
anything but a poem, because poems were precious things
and who was I to claim that word?
Three crumpled notebooks later,
I stood at an open mic, palms sweating,
heart drumming rhythms louder than my voice could ever be.
The room was half-empty, the lights too bright,
my paper creased from being folded, unfolded, refolded again.
And I spoke.
The silence after I finished
was the first punctuation mark I truly understood.
See, finding your voice isn't about sounding good.
It's about sounding like you.
It's the moment you stop apologizing for your own echo,
stop trying to fit your breath into someone else's lungs.
I still don't know if what I do is poetry.
Some days I think it's just survival with better line breaks,
confession without the curtain,
the things I couldn't say finding their way out anyway.
But I know this:
When I speak now, I recognize the sound.
When I write, the words fit my mouth
like they've been waiting there all along.
And maybe that's enough.
Maybe that's everything.
Maybe poetry isn't something you find.
Maybe poetry is what finds you
when you finally stop running from your own voice.
“The power of the will is a fire
That lies not outside, but within oneself.” By author
****************************************************************
Power of the Will
When fate has dealt us severe hammer blows
And the sun is veiled for days in a row,
When dark clouds shroud our mind with dull despair
And strings of sturdy storms lay our soul bare
Let us call on the power of the will
To infuse in us stern strength to stand still;
A sincere sister of perseverance
Deep from the self, will power draws its sense
And within us eternally resides
As a fire to forge ahead that presides
Over the part we play to reach our goals
Without staining with soil our sacred soul.
Written ~ December
two thousand seventeen
in case ye dear reader possess
an eye extremely keen
nonetheless just by happenstance
courtesy this human bean
counter, who also happens
tubby garden variety alien.
Panoply of mystical elements of holly day style
breathe prez sense frostily exhaled aired
per millennia athwart
(this terrestrial spaceship planet Earth)
two plus seventeen carousel rides resonated
veritable pantheon of pagan rituals
and quirky superstitions lit
(akin to a lit Christmas tree)
starry eyed imagination
as catalyst viz *****Sapiens
furrowed stern brow of forehead
aft stemmed whilst Santa oft puzzling
(allocating suitable gifts)
inducing him to tug thought generating beard
pondering, whence agents provocateurs
receive just desserts
fueled hodge podge, mish mashed, helter skelter
eclectic December twenty fifth
encompassing tens of thousands previous generations
bred despacito fixtures via paganism,
Manichaeism, Jainism, et cetera
ancient brutish credos, ethos, faiths
brewed nebulous concoction
within mindset of early mankind
loose confection, confederation, conglomeration
indiscriminately torquing, vetting, whetting
disparate constituent beliefs
contagion wrought spirit paradigm
inculcating oral tradition Madonna and child
occupying high chair
whereat superstitions birthed patchwork
comprising divergent ensemble heralding
This is the end of this, the point of no return.
If it was uo to me, I'd let myself burn.
They're teaching ne , but I cannot learn.
Stop driving me crazy, stop being so stern.
The world is an oval, but I've found an edge.
I'm fighting for myself, I'm keeping that pledge.
Stop trying to change me, I dont want to fall.
Stop trying to change me, I'm gonna stand tall
This world ain't a home, this world's just a house
All living together, like we're each other's spouse.
We cry and we bleed, but we refuse to change
And we wonder what's wrong, like the answers so strange.
Now you may ask, why is this world so messed?
It's not about poverty, its Hollywood and best dressed.
Girls can be lesbians, but guys can't be fags.
Can't kill on the streets, but troops get body bags .
Everyone will be screwed when we run out of oil.
Dig deeper in yourself, in your own soil.
This world angers me, it makes my blood boil
There's bad uses for everything, even aluminum foil
We call children youth, but they'll never get it back.
Already having sex, some even smoking Crack.
If you ask me, I think that's just whack.
What happened to us? Where did we get off track?
Im sick of everyone who's just trying to use me.
Im sick of everyone who's just trying to abuse me.
But you'll never get to me, I still have my soul
But you're making it darker, almost blacker than coal.
Just chill for a second and drain out the lies
And look at this world through my outcast eyes.
*LET'S DO A LIFE TOGETHER*
Just before you say Yes to the priest
Wait a moment before you sign on it
Give me a moment to make you a pledge
A pledge I've made with myself long ago
Even before we are here to make a vow
A pledge that would be with me when the priest is no longer here
I've run a jungle at the darkest hour
I swam the river at the highest tides
Even on the oceans at rough current
Been in the wind in turbulence
I have tasted lime and lemonade
Given the care and love only mothers can
Supported and cheered by my own father
Shown love and respect by my siblings
And I've come this far to make a choice for life
In the pool of many I've made my choice
And proclaimed my love with a stern voice
I've chosen you my friend till no end
Chose you my partner and welcomed by my father
In your home I have a friend in your mother
Share with me the honour and love from my mother
With my brother you can trust this army
And in my sister you have a friend
Step up the stairs my darling mate
I chose you for this but not a race
Nobody crosses the ribbon alone
I chose you for this not for a game
For there would be no prize for the winner
Let's do this not for the ring
I'm not gonna cage you for life
We know how rough it has been getting here
We know the pride we shoved down the throat
We know the price it cost us
And getting here isn't a prize yet
Let's journey together beyond our prime
Do a life with me
Let me love you till a day beyond forever
Respect each other till the last breath
I've agreed to sail this ship
Enjoy the cruise when the ocean is still
Sing me songs of our youthful days
And when the storm hits
Hold the wheel and steer with me
Nobody goes overboard
We hitting the shores in one piece
Should you say 'I do' today
It is a yes to life with me
In his cowboy outfit, young Danny was eloquently clad.
He'd never been throwed from his rockin' horse as a tad!
He aspired to be a cowboy and eventually got his chance,
But soon learned that cowboyin' wasn't all fun and romance!
The first thing he had to do was learn to ride a horse,
And then hire on as a ranch hand in due course.
With rockin' horse experience, he thought it a simple tour de force,
But he took many a bone rattlin' spill due to gravitational force!
He throwed the saddle on the horse and cinched it down too tight!
The horse would have none of that and unseated Dan with all his might!
His head was reelin' as he landed in a not too convenient cactus patch!
Extractin' thorns from his stern he mused, "Have I met my match?"
The horse, named Killer, glared at Dan with fire in his eyes!
He managed to climb aboard again - Boys, was he in for a surprise!
Again, that old bronc turned belly high landin' on all four feet.
Danny sprawlin' in the dust was ready to admit defeat!
Old-time cowpokes smokin' roll-yer-owns, hangin' around the corral,
Urged him on a-yellin', "Hang on greenhorn! Yippee Yo! Ride 'im pal!"
Dan lying in a heap of manure looked up and said, "Boys, he beat me good!
I reckon I'd better look around and find myself another livelihood!"
In the eighties, my perplexed stare
developed an incredulous bared.
Those years held much I could not befriend
and I died a little inside by its end.
Howard Stern ignited my pen with his germ.
He high-spiked my outrage on solid burn
as he grew rich feeding youth radio p-o-r-n.
I died a little inside from moral concern.
Talk shows seeped us with nothing worthwhile,
shocking us in vulgar, bottom feeder style
until our shock capacity burst its dial.
I died a little inside that people enjoyed ‘vile.’
In the eighties, American public schools failed
while private schools slowly came to prevail
cost-mimicking all public schools once nailed.
I died a little inside that education rights derailed.
There is more eighties grief I could pour
but its heavily laden feel might this day endure
and I cannot risk damage to my joy still secure
by dying a bit more from all I could not cure.
... CayCay
February 10, 2019
CHRISTMAS CHICKEN REVOLT
Twas the night before Christmas, all through the coop,
The chickens stirred, marching down the slope.
They clucked and squawked across the street,
Fed up with being served up as a holiday treat.
"Cluck! Cluck!! Stop cooking us for Christmas,"
With hammar, they boldly came all out enmass.
"Try other meat like snake, cat, or vulture meat."
The Chickens make stern demands, stamp their feet.
They marched out with a raucous cluck-cluck,
To demand their liberty, showing they're not muck.¹°
"We will not be served up, all golden and fried,
We deserve to be free, not to be denied!
We're more than just nuggets or dinner for you,
We're sentient beings with a voice, it's true!
Our beaks are for pecking, not a meal for your plate,
So hear our demands, and take heed of our fate!
What do you say, humans, to our plea?
Will you grant us our freedom, and let us all be?
Or how many more pots do we have to break?
Our lives are always served up, always at stake,²°
Else, we promise to peck, scratch, and do harm,
Focus on consuming the cow and the ram."
The humans were silent, looking on in shock,
As the chickens stood tall, a united flock.
Then, the humans promised to grant them freedom,
Never again to trouble the chicken kingdom.
But then again, how would that be,
Hearkening to such silly stupendous plea?
They rejoiced, danced & sang, a merry ol' tune,
They vowed to protect their newfound boon.³°
But the humans looked on, with a smile,
Bang with a nod as they observed from a mile
As if they had granted the chickens their trod,
They applaud their demonstration, which looks odd.
And so it was that on Christmas Day:
"Let's raise a glass," the humans say,
"And let's make a toost to chickens galore,
And to the enjoyment of Christmas, forevermore."
The whole mankind felicitate and celebrate.
And of cos, you can guess what's on their plate!4°
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
FORM: Rhymes
Copyright © December 16th, 2023
The dark man rides throughout the land,
true servant of his Queen;
and follows he, her stern command,
to fetch the sweetest seen.
He never speaks, this silent man.
His gaze is straight ahead.
But mortals understand his plan,
and let themselves be led.
The dark man he will play his part.
He’ll whisk them clean away.
Tho’ if the Queen feels kind of heart,
they’re home again next day.
But woe betide the ones who speak
of such a fairy game.
The dark man once again will seek
to blind, strike dumb or maim.
Then as the hallowed e’en draws nigh,
let mortals all beware:
When witches ride the midnight sky,
the dark man will be there.
October 12th 2011
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