Long Take Poems
Long Take Poems. Below are the most popular long Take by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Take poems by poem length and keyword.
Oh come with me ye boys and girls;
And what stops, I ask, the youth and the old?
Come ye of all age and gender,
I'll lead you to magic, wonders untold.
I lead you deep into woods, dreary and dark,
And moss-laid meadows by a rill and a brook,
Where dragons and demons cast their fiery spell,
Great venturings into quests are undertook.
Did you summon up fairies, is that your wish?
Or perhaps sinewed heroes, comely maidens you'd like.
I'll give them all, and some more, if that's your wish,
Perhap's you'd like some Zen, linked with maintaining your bike.
Most splendorous are my realms, on Earth and afar,
From dark Styx to Elysium, Valhalla's Halls,
To Barsoom and beyond to Syrius, and Dog,
I'll take you through great deserts, through Poseidon's squalls.
Or perhaps you'd prefer to hear from wizened old sages,
Of wisdom, of life, of what awaits you in the pale,
Or some sagas of survival, of heroic strife,
Maybe you want the telling of whodunnit tales.
I'll get tired of the telling, leave plenty unsaid
But you're sure to be richer by the tales in my book
I ask of you nothing, neither fee nor a price,
Just cosily curl with a tome in your favourite nook.
15 Apr 2016
13th jan 2012.
By Sashi Prabhu (zeauoxian)
This poem is a wacky one…….
This new year I see that I have a bigger opportunity,
To be a part of the Bard community.
So I take this opportunity to pen a few lines that could be wacky,
But believe me I really do not mean to be tawdry, vulgar, cheap or tacky.
I want to stop biting my fingernails and not the ones on my toes,
As I have now discovered that there are some places unreachable in my nose.
I want to save all my monies, that otherwise is impossible,
So have to stop making calls from my cell phone and give as many missed calls as possible.
I want to save on detergent powder,
So will stop sniffing my socks before I put them on & refrain from cursing with stench alouder.
I want to stop peeving and galling my face book friends,
By not messaging them every now & then, but write about them on their walls & make amends.
I want to stop changing my profile picture 70 times a day,
And aim to keep the count to 10 times a day & admire myself anyway.
I want to stop replying to text messages,
With k, lol, lmao & try to make usage lesages.
And finally I want to brush my teeth every day,
But please excuse Sunday from everyday, in a well mannered way.
My heart bleeds words which take the form of poetry – by poet
There is grace in the nouns
Freedom in the verbs
There is music in the prose
Whispers of light in the poem
There is hope in the thoughts
Promise in the ideas
There is silence in the heart
Joy in the kindest breath
There is faith in the inspirations
Rhythm in the stanza
Laughter in the romance
Feelings powerful and clever
There is expectation in the lyrics
Recovery in the soft conjunctions
Pearls of wisdom in the style
Life that welcomes gentle insight
There is harmony in the quiet songs
Magic that reminds us to love
Beyond the words and phrases
All the way onto the blank pages
There is beauty in the compositions
Tunes of melodies easy and gentle
Coloring souls in hues of serenity
Peace that surpasses the empathetic
There is kindness in the starry shimmers
Hearts both breathtaking and brilliant
Souls so warmed by their passions
They are shadowed by love without conditions
There is longing in the one who writes
Both sad things and glad things
Whatever details might enlighten
Bringing to life the story, the poem….
Felt by a heart who knows words
Give their lives the dance, the waltz
That brings life to their souls
And a narrative to their goals
Written by a heart who bleeds words!
The hot days of summer slowly fade away
Autumn takes over with blustery showers
tinted with some warm days others cold
still it creeps on causing leaves to curl up.
Vivid colours of browns, yellows and reds
drift down carpeting the land with piles
that hides insects ready 'to escape the cold,
land's chill and we know Jack Frost waits
He waits in the wings full of much mischief
but still is not quite time for his appearance
Autumn is not yet quite ready to stand aside
with final breath she blows, then steps away.
Leaving winter to take his place with chills
running down spines with freezing fingers
A light sprinkling of snow a warning sign
and Jack Frost steps out with great glee
He whips up a bitter wind leaving trails
in the snow, finger prints on window panes
So we snuggle close to a big roaring fire
and start longing for the arrival of spring
I am tired with the word what do you do for a living
A question whose answer will take you away from me
Because I am not productive enough
Yes I have not collected much stones recently
Like penguins do on an island
But they collect one or two just for fun
All you do is work, work
And yes you are the master of stones
Tomorrow you will be there
Another boring face
With the same attitude
Judging me why I have not collected
Much stones recently
I do the most boring job
On earth
And I am not changing my ways.
While I stretch
You frown
As i take a walk
You run
For what?
Where is it we are going?
There is nothing except for death
Waiting for us.
What will you say on your last day
What will you do with all those stones you gathered
Even dogs do not eat them
Don't you see the futility of existence
We are here to enjoy 2 hours
And then go back to where we came from.
A pot of fresh flowers,
Sitting on my window sill,
Delights this old heart of mine
And flowers always will.
I love all flowers,
That includes some weeds
They are like people
We all start from seeds.
Some flowers are exotic,
And seem to say, "Look at me."
Others are more modest,
But as pretty as can be.
Some are a bit prickly,
Like roses and thistles
Roses are very fragrant
Thistles, Bristle.
Flowers have heavenly scents,
That wafts perfume into the air
Nature in all its innocence,
It helps to wash away our cares.
Take comfort in little things,
And inside, you will grow.
I can tell you this with confidence,
As my flowers told me so.
The Worst Grief
I believe the worst grief you can feel,
Is the grief you feel for people that hurt you.
You paint pictures of all people in your mind.
But pain dealt to you doesn’t give you time to paint into that picture.
Pain taints your oils, your pigments and acrylics.
And the portrait is distorted,
Burned and burdened with blood spilled out of your own fingers.
But in the rearview you can’t see those smaller smears.
You see the face of the person you cared about one day and an age ago.
The poison only shows back up when you back up —
Take a closer look into that painting.
Its an optical illusion,
Occlusion clouding conscious thought.
That one last “I should text him.” Or that one last “he’s better now, surely.”
You built up walls to keep them out.
So why do we keep opening the gate when they come back?
Recycled Wisdom Lost
by Odin Roark
How common to recycle today
bottle,
cardboard,
can,
or bubble wrap.
How rare the regard for pleas from
mind,
heart,
memory,
wishing also to amend anew.
How satisfying,
To arouse the sleeping heart,
thrusting its comfort-beat
upon new rhythms made aware,
ensuing musical notes of clarity
not yet upon the staff of boundaries,
affording dissonance where only
harmony's familiarity once reigned.
To revisit memory
offering bygone experience,
wiser tools of perception,
scrambling dog-eared indexes
cross-referencing fact and fabrication,
allowing waste to fall free,
encouraging truth to persevere.
To sort through mind's many strategies,
discounting some,
discarding others,
dismantling exhausted cogs that
advance little the unknown begging at the door.
Such is…
To complete one's desire to remain conscious,
allowing distinction for that worth rebirthing
from chaff heretofore but a friction urging resolve.
How obvious to some:
the take-to-the-curb days of consciousness.
How misunderstood by others:
the smothering effect of effort
to treat excess destined as garbage.
How aware
those who
like the winged flights on high
weave today's nest
from yesterday's exhausted remnants,
knowing well the destiny of permanence
is but to replant where burnt forests once thrived.
And yet…
We often think recycling is confined to aluminum,
plastics, glass and other fabrications of man’s intellect,
but what of...
We got a ways to go things being the way that they are
But it's better that you know and can see just how far
Many aren't as aware with the rest not having a clue
But let's be fair, giving all the credit to Whom it's due
Remember, only One was perfect and you need only follow
Don't be one to neglect, so sad all those lives ringing hollow
For praise is most certainly good being so incapable of more
For here never having understood, being so much glory in store
We're just not there yet, but how far we've come as of today
It's in the goals that you set when then walking in His Way
And then you take time to praise again for just praise is due
Not characteristic of most men and of many women also true
So I know I'm not perfect but I know I'm on the right road
It's the others I can't neglect and I almost feel that it's owed
So if you could give me a little hand in the spreading of His Word
Then even more would understand their vision no longer blurred
Psalms Chapter 8
(it's only 9 verses)
So I went to the quack on a Wednesday
He said that they'd found something wrong
He said there's this thing called a prostate
And mine well its just not on song
The best thing to do with a Prostate
Is just take the Bugger away
So that's why i'm sat in my garden
With six holes in my belly today
They cut and they scraped and they prodded
And shuffled my insides about
Till the bits on the left were all righted
And the right bits were turned inside out
So now I'm at home in the garden
My belly it feels a bit odd
I don't know if I should call the doctor
Or if I just call Dyno-Rod
But the best thing I know is that prostate
Is now in some hospital bin
Its not in my guts spreading Cancer
Like it would if they left the thing in