Long Thematic Poems
Long Thematic Poems. Below are the most popular long Thematic by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Thematic poems by poem length and keyword.
coping just for a purpose
rusting revealing the truth
a new coat of paint never helps
however i become emotionally addicted
i remember when smiles on four walls was the art we chose
when the foundation of the paint weakened with time, so did the symbolism of our love
we became antiheroes in the form of thematic failure
we allowed that to be our smiling front and our welcoming back
we never asked forgiveness for we knew not the particular definition
we were liars without admittance to admitting
as a result, we aged at a more rapid pace
genetics defied us, but we too were defiant by unified choice
God has a way of structuring by way of emphatic emphasis
nevertheless we let the devil break through....therefore becoming unfortunate pockmarked examples
It had matured into
something totally
different from it's meager
begann9ings.
From what was made
a specticaule of
and doubted
now a realist view in light of
it's truth.
Practical and effeint
in every point of view
one spoke from up here
even the lowest places seem
worthwhile and meaningful
the depths of it's reality
has been encompassed and surveyed
usage of every inch seems
practicail and the effeinacy of
it structure
ensures it's success.
Made right by the hardest of work
designed and deticated to the
success of the project.
-----------------------------------------
they wanted to find sponsers to create a new
thematic game adventer.
25 miles a race with three teaams
that is centered on culinary arts and equestrain displays.
challenges from task and completion
designed to score and to be evaluated.
The completion of three meals
with rules that regulate there comnpletion and the effectivness of
the trained professionals who
are tasked with there completion.
trophies and ribbons
award iin a point system that has a grandprize and
evalution officail that award points all along the way.
Three teams start at a subzero position
and with both tradition and modern eqipment they are tasked to perform.
each team to consist of 25 memebrs
that are faced with challenges both culinary and
mechanical obsticlaes that have each team to complete in order to get fromn one position to the other.
From Camping to feeding clean-up then to relocating and waiting for the fall back indivdauls to advance and to be recamped.
Vulessero Vasa, she called my name from the cleaned room.
There she asked: Vide O' Mare? no: no I answered, looking
at a painting Spira Tanti sentimento, yes she smiled
a perfection of sentiment, a glamorous rendering
or art. It's so, so he said jokingly. So, so it's worth more
than all you could ever image. Perfection is expensive isn't it?
Quite expensive indeed.looking out the window she remarked of
being happy the rain had stopped: she love the aroma of
outside after the storm. Marvelous the nights, starry eyed and
warm.Candlelite was thematic for evening
our supper we dined and danced by candle lite. By the fireplace
we sat watching and waiting, we were determined to stay woke
until the power had been restored.Romance, makes way to love
might you make love to me she asked him: then he never said a word.
We woke to the sound of chainsaw, buzzing and a barking dog from the junkyard scratching at the door.Breakfast was awkward,
after which we finished cleaning. I told her I had to leave she told me
what night shall we be again? His anwser was straight forward and bold,
he told her to speak him as hers and the days we speak shall be
tommorrows as lovers.She said when you comeback to Surreinto
stand in the door and I will invite you in as my fiancee.
Embers
burn in silence
not to disturb
our softly spoken words
and to gift us little warmth
in love's nest
Once more
in your embrace
in front of fire
sole witness of our love
making the moment stand still
eternal
© kash poet
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Placement: 2nd ;(Nov.2012)
Contest:Views from a Vignette
Sponsor:Nette Onclaud
##vignette: a hexastich in 6 lines with 2-4-4-6-7-3 syllable count per line, unrhymed.. there are a few approaches of this genre, but let’s go for the short version… a vignette focuses on ONE mood, character, setting, or object to paint a picture of a moment in time in a SUBTLE MANNER… please use the visual below as your thematic concept…
======================================================
Distant Light
by Walid Khazindar
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Bitterly cold,
winter clings to the naked trees.
If only you would free
the bright sparrows
from your fingertips
and release a smile—that shy, tentative smile—
from the imprisoned anguish I see.
Sing! Can we not sing
as if we were warm, hand-in-hand,
sheltered by shade from a sweltering sun?
Can you not always remain this way,
stoking the fire: more beautiful than expected, in reverie?
Darkness increases and we must remain vigilant
since this distant light is our sole consolation ...
this imperiled flame, which from the beginning
has constantly flickered,
in danger of going out.
Come to me, closer and closer.
I don't want to be able to tell my hand from yours.
And let's stay awake, lest the snow smother us.
Walid Khazindar was born in Gaza City. He is considered to be one of the very best Palestinian poets; his poetry has been said to be "characterized by metaphoric originality and a novel thematic approach unprecedented in Arabic poetry." He was awarded the first Palestine Prize for Poetry in 1997. Keywords/Tags: Arabic, translation, Arab spring, Palestine, Palestinian, Gaza, distant, light, flame, fire, autumn, winter, tree, trees, birds, sparrows, fingertips, smile, sing, shade, sun, fire, darkness, hand, hands, snow
i dwell within the confines of a soft whisper in the snow
daily, i pray for the return of an innocence long departed
free from people's thoughts and their harsh judgements, i think freely
inside the frigid facility, i can let go of the weight that holds me down
i can allow the gentle winds of life soothe the battle weary capability of my sanity
i can sit at the edge of life's carefully laid out challenges
i can hear the thematic images of the birds' melodies
i can hear the crunches of the leaves as deer pass by
i can drink from the water dripping from the icicles of my element
i can hide from it all, and to many that is not alright
yet and still, what do they know about what is really good for me
no matter the season, i dwell within the confines of a soft whisper in the snow
a battered snowman is my only friend and confidante
we eat oreo ice cream together and talk about the old days in the public
nightly, we pray for the return of a familial familiarity long departed
free from people's cheap stupidity and all the expensive results, we vacate often
I just wanted to thank Poetry Soup for, well, for being, for existing as a format for poets to share their hearts and souls. I can hardly believe it's been 6 years (gulp!) since I first posted a poem here--it was about that time that I started writing poetry again after a 30 plus year hiatus since I stopped writing anything in my early 30's. Why I stopped or why I began again, I don't know: Who can explain creativity? But somehow I found Soup and well, a community. So may I thank, on behalf of that community, all you unsung heroes who maintain the 'Soup'.
And as to all those who add their 'ingredients' into the Soup, let me commend ALL of you. In those same 6 years I have not read a single poem that was pretentious, egotistical, idiosyncratic to the point of being so obscure as to seem meaningless--in other words, so called 'modern' contemporary poetry as favored by a depressing number of lit mags today. I've learned at last to stop wasting my time submitting to such [and certainly not if they demand a reading fee] as I-- fool that I am-- continually strive to find meaning in both what I write and what I read. One editor even warned not to send anything that 'conveyed' a meaning, and in no uncertain terms did he want did he want to hear anything about the soul or the heart or-God forbid!- God.
I suspect this is why so many people are turned off by modern poetry today-- and who can blame them? Wasting time reading a bunch of big/obscure/erudite words strung together, only to scratch your head wondering what the hell did that all mean? The best poems are often very simple: 'to be or not to be', 'death kindly stopped for me', 'the Lord is my shephard' -- but they always take you SOMEWHERE [though it may not be a place you immediately recognize]. The best poems, I believe, increase awareness, not leaving you feeling confused, perplexed, frustrated ['what the hell did that mean?' ] This does not mean they give you answers --but they may suggest some. And as modern society becomes increasingly at odds with itself, at risk quite literally of fragmenting, some insight would seem as valuable as it is rare.
The contests are fun at Soup and many demonstrate how clever and knowledgeable Soupers are about the myriad poetical forms. I have to say, though, I wish there were more thematic contests--open to any form that served to enlighten the proposed theme.
COHERENCE
thematic
&authentic
collaboration
created in
a visual
mood
a creative
vision
a sense of
intrigue
in layers
of detailed
texture
for the
curious
emerge
as
multiple
narratives
of
energy
&time
pieced
as a metaphor
emerging
as
a cross to
encapture
feeling
entering &
eventually
rendering
vibrant
figurative
flights of
fancy
scenery
breaking ground
of
the intellect
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
ICE NINE
The sourceling of anti-matter,
morphed in, a slithering form.
From Darkness's anteroom chamber-
The wormhole, in escape-
The place where disobedience was born.
A
S
p
i
r
a
l
staircase, passage-
from Satan's spawning floor.
The full embrace of the fall, from grace-
Leading to a pit, a chasm within,
a vacuous sore.....
(The Abyss)
An Epitaph to Hopes Epiphany,
suffocation of man's denial.
Viper's soliloquy on Life's Headstone-
singing Hade's Reprisal.
The Manacle Frost seeped in, absolute,
in a stigma of waves.
Grasping, ill repute,
adorning its crystal plague.
Sculpting a stoic coffin,
for the Deads Winter.
Thematic serum, preserving decay,
reserving sinners -to it's chaotic
pain of spread-eagle splay.
Delivering retribution of hydrous tentacles-
A black mosaic, sadistic, iced anti-miracles.
What once were flowing streams,
now, solid, cataracts, in the shade of heresy.
Clogged arteries,
unstirring unto Death's Trident.
Neptune's chill, unforgiving, arrant.
Blood rigid, arresting the heart of Heretics.
A frozen mirror casts justice's like image,
reflecting back from the Abyss.
Unrelenting, this visage, to the fiends,
strewn about the thick of it.
Icy fangs sink in their eternal repress.
Yes.
The Sickle of Death's Angel.
The Fog of Hade's Breath.
On my path to uncle's village apartment,
I was in hurry , whistling in joy and
excitement.
The decorated garden with beautiful flowers, The timely arrival of rain and its showers.
Where morning are enriched with soothing sun rays,
Reminds me of fairy tales and heavenly vergent fays.
Working farmers in the field to earn future reserves,
The nature renders the creature everything they deserve.
The settlements are integrated and the bonding is strong,
It carries the flow of a wave to propagate this life and beyond.
The vibrant nature dictates its urgency to flow in rivers,
To provide drinking water to all the thirsty survivors.
It is the most amazing thematic appreciation of nature,
Where all the dwellers are its signatory proprietor.