Long Take part Poems
Long Take part Poems. Below are the most popular long Take part by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Take part poems by poem length and keyword.
What Democracy
Democracy, in Britain is nothing but a lie.
From the dictionary the word should be deleted
Whilst democracy’s the slogan that politicians cry
The majority of us feel that we’ve been cheated
With political correctness forced upon us every day
Just in case the casual word may cause offence
If you have a strong opinion be careful what you say
Even though you may be talking perfect sense
When we joined the E.E.U. I’m sure we took the view
It would give a larger market for our trade
Yet now our mighty nation has a legal obligation
To abide by regulations Brussels made
The referendum was denied, the politicians lied
These decisions were decided by the few
It was no doubt understood, M.Ps thought it would be good
With a total disregarding of our view
MP’s pull out all the stops to try to fill our shops
With G.M foods that we don’t want to eat
Whilst cameras check our speed on roads where there’s no need
We’d be better off with coppers on the beat
If when confronted by a crook you land a good right hook
You may think that he deserved it, it’s his fault
When he is on probation you’ll be locked up down the station
To appear before a jury for assault
When travellers leave a mess, you’d be spot on if you guess
That authorities will turn an eye that’s blind
Yet drop a *** end in the street and before it hits your feet
You will get an instant ticket and be fined
If asylums what you seek and English you can’t speak
Benefits are paid for your welfare
But if your British and your old, your property is sold
To pay for any time you are in care
If you chastise your child, because he has run wild
That law will on your collar give a tug
For no matter what you say, do-gooders rule the day
Even though the child may grow into a thug
In the interest of fair play referendums are the way
The majority decide just where we go
We shouldn’t change our laws or take part in futile wars
To massage a political ego
When we are due a big election, parties vie for our affection
Promising the things they have in store
It fair gives us the hump, they should take a running jump
They must realise we’ve heard it all before.
It is hard to understand who governs our fair land
Or who it is that makes up all our rules
Our politicians bore us, or totally ignore us
Democracy in Britain! It’s for fools!!.
.
Form:
A new day perhaps, of immeasurable tin, sound of din
A hurricane noise, a thrall of riotous cuts, although thin
The blood-curdle choke of rage from before
Now purchased like plasma from the needle store
Go hump yourself, If you want my schtick, you vampire whore
You’ve had enough since the Garden, Lillith, you’ll not get more
Now the ratio between human, vampire, dragon and other dead
Has been cast with fair radiant echo against the nuclear thread
A shroud sewn with Alcubierre’s hand and Teller’s eye
Will re-write the laws of your time to die
Not forced by the forced prison of your local priest
Or enticed by Babylon to take part in it’s wicked feast
The work that was promised to Adam and re-framed unto Cain
To un-curse the valley, glen and land: to filter Acid from Rain
With thorns o- the rose coming loose from the Bush
And snakes running hither or thither in scintillate Rush
The Oracle of Satan found new charms to spread in perfect Cube
Could be the shape of Sound Maynard or Max’s Cubic Rube
The Time of Orwell Now and Jobs spelling Apple at his Side
And Sting writing programs for the Cops, whom along for the Ride
the Bladerunner checkin for humans among the technical horde
Huxley detected the separate spirit, lobotimized souls, Model T Fords
And Harrison checked again with electric sleep on the Brain
A tear for Summer, or a vision for Canticles, a wave almost Inane
With countless ages past since the Dust of Sumer lent
It’s hell-bound rasp of gutteral destruction spent
The awful wave of gas, a riotous nuclear blast
In the once Green land where sage grew fast
The dim spectre of time has given up the ghost
With markets bazar and material plenty, yet consider the cost
From Alabaster bone the Ocean’s a-shallow
The Mermaids remember the times that were fallow
Year upon year the bi-peds walked without aim or deed
That could count for fullness, even yet upon steed
Even in those ages of lore when upon horse they’d trot
Or with Gasoline chariot to the park like Mel Ot
None could account for the empty space of land
Or like Kieth Stone, bend down and till without turning into sand
The eidolons of time, immemorable: drooping, eternal clocks
An echo of murmurs, drogue and sorrow, indifferent as the rocks
Whom would not cry out, with refusal of price
None could garner their strength or bleed them twice
Today I had a strange experience,
Not in this group but in another group.
‘Poetry and Lit'rature' it is not,
In ‘Written or Revealed Poetry' thread.
Asked, have I written poems in my life?
I found it fit to answer it this way:
I'm writing this in reply to a miss,
I have never written poems in my life.
Have wondered where these poems all come from,
From human intellect or nature's store,
To be picked up at moments of revelation;
Or synthesized in rotten human brain!
I was inspired to write these wicked lines,
By those whose verses written were in sand:
Let us debate poetry in poems,
I hope she'll someday answer me in kind.
I 'am not doing anything again,
But asking questions all have answers for.
I have my answers, you can have yours,
This not an illiterate arena,
Where someone asks questions and another from,
Some academic circle answers them.
Some anxious are, to questions throw around,
Some eagerly waits there to answer them;
This not such school or college where one can,
En'tertain answers not from others too.
I know I'm Alexander Pope's close kin,
I stop here, to read Temple of Fame again.
I regularly take part in discussions in a famous social site of experts and writes in two special groups Poetry and Literature and Language, Literature & Criticism. A discussion on ‘Whether Poetry Has To Keep Form' became heated and I had to remain at the receiving end of severe but very polished criticism for some of my view points insisting on form for poetry.
At last I was asked, ‘You do not seem to have understood the mechanics of poetry like many of us; have you ever read a poem or at least try to write one'? I decided to write my reply in the poetical form and invited the others to respond in the like manner and continue the discussion on poetry. In my native land, in Malayalam literature, there has been a long history of poets writing letters to each other in the poetical form, creating a rich branch of literature in itself. In truth, almost all Indian languages had this kind of a branch of literature, and it had become an interesting and rich feature of Indian literature. I replied as shown here.
A Poem By P.S.Remesh Chandran. Editor, Sahyadri Books & Bloom Books. Trivandrum.
Read more about our views on poetry and about our various poetry editorial services in http://poetryeditservice.blogspot.in/
Bath City football club is an embarrassment to Bath
Most people ain't heard of them the ones who have laugh
Their aim and ambition is to be what they are
And that's like dreaming you're a broken down car
The fixture list came and it says you take part
So you push that car around the track from the start
Their desire is to exist with no plan to go far
They don't have the fire they don't have the heart
We don't show support when it all looks a farce
Don't we deserve something better than this
In good old Bath City where only rugby exists
Football can rot because rugby's the wish
absolute bollocks it's bollocks it is
Lacking intelligence in this rugby territory
it's like they see football the ultimate enemy
Scared of its presence and what it might do
A city with one club yet big enough for two
Our Uni makes athletes Olympian Gold
Bath Rugby competes while the football's on hold
There is a demand, no there's not we get told
"Football's not our game it's just not our mould"
I know Sir James Dyson is a man made in Bath
we're all proud of that, those Hoovers are bad
I say that as slang, his old bosses are mad
They rejected his hoover, how dumb and how daft
Now with your mass fortune beyond simple maths
You can now do what nobody else ever has
Invest in Bath City and put them on the map
You'll be a hero and they won't be crap
Potential so blatant will finally grow
and with it our pride, a pride never known
fill up the stadium with a reason to go
and fans will keep coming if there is a show
The community will bond as it responds to events
when you create dreams the present prevents
those magical days when the cup brings giants
a promotion or two through your generous expense
there's so much potential, they so under achieve
it wouldn't take much for that club to succeed
giving thousands of locals dreams hope and belief
It's you Sir James Dyson can gift what we need
It'll take off like your Hoovers but the football won't suck
with your big fat fortune it won't cost you a buck
it's a bigger football club than we know but its stuck
and it's about our community, it's a gift of good luck
invest in Bath City and the best is to come,
you'll go down in history as the one champion
who did the one thing that nobody had done,
go on mate please it's a job that sounds fun
III.
But I had a much higher purpose now,
damned or not, I would serve the True God,
for thirty years I served with my brothers,
upon a humble path I faithfully trod.
Maybe I wasn’t a miracle worker,
though I saved lost pilgrims in my time,
age etched lines in my brothers’ faces,
but it had no effect upon mine.
The abbot swore newcomers to secrecy
about the truth of my vampiric fate,
and I guess I believed I’d just go on
serving an eternity in this way.
But one day as the sun started to set,
I looked out upon a terrible sight:
A small girl running, screaming in fear
as a wolf closed on in for a bite.
I hesitated for just a moment,
the sun was high enough that I would burn,
but the terrified cries of a five-year old
were not something from which I could turn.
I sprinted out with unnatural speed,
instantly my skin erupted in flames,
raced past the girl, thrust my burning hand
to the wolf with jaws of snapping rage.
The fire seared both myself and the beast,
with frantic yelps of pain he then ran off,
I staggered back, my pale skin burned to black,
bits of flesh had flaked off and were lost.
I made it back to the small gatehouse
and I collapsed in the shadows within,
the abbot ran close, with my fading strength
I weakly tried to say goodbye to him.
But he just looked down, said,”We need blood.
Run to the chapel and fetch me the wine!”
A brother raced off, returned with the jug,
made no sense to my greatly pained mind.
He filled a chalice, look to the Heavens,
said,”Lord, I know that I am no priest.
But if he must die, let him drink of Your blood,
let him take part at last in Your mercy.”
I felt this would be a fitting way to die,
burned by the holy blood of my Lord.
But when I drank I did not feel the fire,
in fact I didn’t feel pain anymore!
I didn’t see it myself, but they say
that the charred skin beat a fast retreat,
and through the haze I managed to feel
a deep breath and a steady heart-beat!
When I sat up the sun came through a window
and it fell harmlessly upon my skin,
I felt true hunger, thirty years overdue,
by His power I once more was human!
They said In Him All Things Are Possible,
and I suppose I am the living truth,
strangest of all I still looked a young man,
blessed with the power and passion of youth...
CONCLUDES IN PART IV.
A strange wind is blowing in the park,
You have to meet with me after dark,
They are planning a wedding in the
Trees and you have to get a secret gear
Before you can attend the wedding over there
They have been planning this from twenty sixteen
When the mean guy came on the scene
They invited ten thousand guests
to take part in a lifetime dream
Everything was carefully worked out
With a slate a drone and the bison horn
The day has finally come when the truth
Will be revealed under the visionless sun
And the eyes will be there
Searching for you everywhere
A strange wind is blowing over there
People are coming from everywhere
They came all the way from
Latain America, Canada, Cuba and the
Caribbean to sing eclipsical song
The Germans were there too
And the British were wooing me and you
The French are standing guard
And the Americans are cleaning the yard
The natives from African and India
are wrapped in fine threads
and yards of clothing wrapped around
their bodies and sweeping on the ground
The moon empress land on the lawan
just before the break of dawn
All the couples take up ther position in the tree
To begin the mysterious wedding ceremony,
the weddeing bells begin to ring
and the angles began to sing
The flying saucer came straight from the
Sky with the secret brides wrapped up inside
There face were hidden under the veil
Exposing their watchful eyes waiting for destiny
To transpire under the blessed sky
The cermoney begain to tell the tales of
A wedding in the middle of the tree
is the perfect irony for you and me
The couples are celebrating with thee
Look at them standing in the swaying trees
And when the ceremoney was done they left that place
In the flying saucer to romance in the burning sun
Ten thousand guest gallavanting in the breeze as the
Universe bond together to celebrate with thee
This is the biggest wedding I have ever seen
With couples dancing in the trees
Desire running up and down the place
And if your on he guest list go on over
And enjoy the wonderful bliss
Something splended is happening over there
And you can tell that destiny is drawing
The breeze is crawling on its knees and
The wedding guests are saluting thee.
hereunder is served some poetry pouches full of love,
dear reader, stir them as you like,
if you wish you may crack them to pour into mouth,
you may smear them on your body
or you may sprinkle them on the ground
and then chant the name of god
with love and enjoyment
1.
the simplicity that rolls down
from the body of the sweet-meat
made by my mother
let it bring light
to our radish-red love-story
to hear or to notice
love
does not need
putting an ear on the wall
of the wall-street journal
the bottle could be filled
from the voice
when you go to fill the bottle
you would see that everywhere
the arrangement of picnic is ready
when i want to take part in that feast
my neighbours would drive me towards
the home
although i’ve spent all my life
running behind the love
2.
who’s won the muddy-battle
was yesterday’s politics
my addiction is actually to cater
the pouch of love
to develop all vitamins
and all bathrooms
people say you don’t love
the claps of the rats
yet i’ll come down
from the branch of a guava-tree
as a wave-of-shopping-mall
to the lake of your love
now i’ll jump out
from this computer screen
to register a kiss
on your lips
don't miss to applaud
by clapping the hands
3.
the heart is half-sunk
in the window
to some extent
in the lipstick too
on the dinner-plate
there is the feelings of the lord
that means
i’ve to be burnt more
i do agree
i would become
the sculpture of khajuraho
this happenings may have been
the right search for love
on either-side of which
a green is being worked out
by the nostalgic-cycle
whose colour-texture is very much harappa
which has too many geometric-memories
4.
an undertone is speaking
from within the solitude
now i’m in very much
distress
or i’m in love
i don’t know my love is what-for
may be that’s an arrangement only
so easily are those interactions
stitched with words
strenuous or effortless
in flight
initiated
with seclusion
but when in the sinking of the playfulness
i write the games of the street-charmers
the birds again and again
pierce the archery
thus becoming ashes
through travelling
in time-gaps still
the audacity to compose poems
on you
...Duncan’s unit, the 42nd,
was placed in the center of the mass,
the French would crumble quick, he reckoned,
when the lines started marching at last,
not knowing that no orders had come,
yet on the left came the sounds of guns…
units began to advance with haste,
before all the men were in their place!
Duncan played his fife and the pipes wailed,
and the Blackwatch men began to march,
they’d be damned if they didn’t take part,
if their brave Scottish hearts were to fail.
So young Duncan found himself moving,
in his chest came a frantic pounding.
Ahead the light infantry attacked,
approaching a long, branch-studded wall,
when a wave of fire force them back,
so much smoke…Duncan saw not at all,
he kept playing, though he trembled now,
amidst the terror of muskets loud,
the 42nd, men of the kilt,
pressed to the earthworks the French had built,
when came a volley of vicious force,
clumps of highlanders fell to the earth,
Duncan dropped his fife, seeing the hurt,
his young mind from its duties divorced,
as dozens of men went to their end,
the piper on his left amongst them.
The Blackwatch was not easily swayed,
through hellish fire they did not break,
kept marching right through the smoky haze
as their proud ranks were constantly raked.
Duncan pushed on just behind the line,
his feet ignoring his fear-gripped mind,
the volleys came, the highlanders died,
until many just ran for their lives.
A precious few reach the wall to fight,
when came the bright glint of bayonet,
stabbing down quick at those not dead yet,
poor Duncan wet himself at the sight;
a highland blasted from his feet
fell back on Duncan, trapped him beneath…
He struggled madly to free his leg,
but he was trapped beneath a large bloke,
and only mere feet above his head
was a Frenchman in a pale great coat,
he grew panicked, and screamed out in fear,
the Frenchman noticed a foe was near,
on the breastwork he had a clear shot,
but on seeing the boy, the man stopped,
struck dumb by seeing this scared child,
’twas young enough to be his own son,
then he slowly lowered his gun,
struck by an impulse cool and mild,
and as he moved his musket away
he looed at Duncan, shouted, “Aller!”
CONTINUES IN PART III.
we look inside to dig deeper then ever before
a willingness by which to explore so much more
love is all around us as if hope springs a new
many have bitten off far more then they could ever chew
solace is branded by ivy thorns on the impulse of love
brevity is still deep inside of me when I have time alone
to wait in the parlor for a sweet word of enjoyment
the favorable response to its duration and plight
forget the night and the day is far well spent
as if gravity is still deep inside of me but I hide from thee
quietness in a walk through the woods
look at the Willow tree wave its tender branches
in certain traces we get spaces in ordinary places
conscious response to love
to embark on a pivotal point of existence learn to shun its resistance
out of every circumstance learn to take part in life's dance
there are various trials to shape your character into being in the moment
love has united the masses with vested chances
love is the union between man & wife
love is in the moment as you gaze into its light
many have departed from its sight giving up on the fight
the human creature is vast in there intellect
a great cause to wait upon such a love
how you have fought so hard and fierce
my truest love is gone from here
a challenge to be free is a question of time
my one solution is using my mind
living on the edge and its going to my head
sitting up at night all alone in bed
following the rainbow to the sky
I see a vision of you pass me by
Our war were in is almost over
It's so hard to believe I lost my lover
love has gained it also has lost humanities heaviest of cost
yet still dig deep then ever before onto the duration of Agape love
brotherly love to love in a praise of thanks to your fellow man
let the reader understand everyone has love just have to tap into it
from that of space and time we shall shine
the love of your neighbor greater then your self
greater love has the man that lays down their life for a friend
a love sought to depend upon day by day
amidst the barren cliffs hero's glare
through the soul in flight as it permeates matters of the heart
In Autumn as the leaves turn each leaf is symbolic
breathe deep
Once held a Title
A means to associate oneself
With thee Who meant more
Although it was not felt until
Another time
Perhaps the wrong or right time
It is hard to say
Thee Who Meant something
Even though, at the time
I was not meant for thee
Gave what thee needed
Attempted to help
Even when those attempts were taken
Taken and possibly forgotten
Forgot the words, their meaning and intent
Title gone, at times used with a teasing sense
Perhaps even Mocking to what was once something
Maybe for comical purposes too but
I do not know
Regardless, the feeling is there
The feeling of thee, at one point, having a special place in thoust heart
For...someone who possibly did not deserve it
But for someone who came to harbor it
Harbor thou as someone who felt so appeasing
In several ways
The memories that are exciting to think about
To live in
To dwell on
Leaves one in a state of heartache
Not for the possibilities
Those were accepted as nothing but fantasy
A fantasy you appeared to not want to take part in
But for what once Was
What was once so Serene
So...Beautiful?
Would I dare go so far?
In this state of mind...Yes
Beautiful
Is what the moments were
Even if bad and were filled with nothing but grief and worry for thee
And thou's predicament
It always enough to be in thou's presence
To talk with thou and hear thou's voice
Addressing this one, who would revel in thou's every word
Share moments with thee
Those moments were what one would look to
Look to without hesitation and always with purpose
A purpose to strengthen the bond
The bond that would, if not sever
Diminish into something that is...
Dreaded
Dreaded with every chatting
With every sitting
Every glance and mention
Taken with a dread that pierces the very core
The core of what aches for something that cannot be Changed
Changed to something more...
Manageable
Posted this with much reluctance.
Constructive criticism is welcomed.
Any suspiciously hinted negativity will be questioned thoroughly and then decided whether to be removed or not.
Thanks for reading, that is, assuming you did, and not just skim and or scan through for some inspiration, if so then you're welcome for something to scan and gain some degree of importance from.;P