Long Twists Poems
Long Twists Poems. Below are the most popular long Twists by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Twists poems by poem length and keyword.
I can not sleep
Not even a wink
I hear their cries
I hear their Pleads
I feel their sorrow
I feel their pain
All the while
They sit there and wait
Nothing about the sorrow nor the pain
Even reaches their selfish brian
Let alone train of thought
Have we forgot
Happiness
Love
Peace
But I have hopes
I hope for happiness
I hope for love
I hope for peace
But that I can’t enjoy
Not with all the problems and no solutions
Why, I sit here and wonder
Why must we pull one-another under
Can’t we see their pain
their sorrow
As I sit here and wonder
As my mind twists and twirls
With hopes
For happiness
For love
For peace
It all begins with a dream
But I don't have any with no sleep
Newspapers read and a grand dinner done,
I put out a large lamp awake like Moon,
And stretched into my bed wishing deep sleep,
Some stars twinkled through the open window
That framed in nearby hills around dark woods
Wondered, well from millions of miles away:
Oh, why should these mortals sleep when we don't,
The thought amusing me much like a child.
I knew not when or how I fell to snore,
Nor how long, but awoke with some cold chills,
Hearing no sound, no intruder to fore,
The steady bright star had set behind hills,
The moon in stealth had tiptoed through the door,
Somewhat ashamed of act as scarce before.
_____________________________________________
Narrative |01.04.2024|
Note: A poetic translation of Rabindranath Tagore’s story in Bengali: Kshudhaarto Paashaana,
divided in I to XIII parts, largely in blank verse that lapses into rhymes along with its twists and turns. The story is known to have happened during Tagore’s stay at Shaahibaug palace in Ahmadabad, the nearby river Sabarmati becoming river Suista in the story.
I whisper to you on the morning breeze
Whistling, laughing and praising
Sharing my grace through the zephyr twists
A lasting murmur of light and love
I giggle with you in the afternoon light
Through lemony sun and fair clouds
Drifting with a trace of blushing roses
Lingering on my soft undertones
I pray to the heavens on wings of song
Coloring the moments in a longing of hope
For beauty that resides in the faith of a child
Leaving passion and promise on the silence
I brighten the days in inspiration that craves
Assurance on the tossing of my branches
As they wrestle with the moon and stars
Awakening love in the forest where I’m truly at home
Personification 150 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Caren Krutsinger
May 20, 2021
Invisible, powerful, divine He is
determining destiny of each spec, soul
blessed ones do feel His presence everywhere
lift me, holy one!
Universe creator, far and deep, unseen
singing praises with the realized beings
I seek help to pull myself out of quagmire
do forgive my sins.
I searched Him in false images, siluettes of truth
why did not I see and be the truth itself?
was it being hidden deliberately?
need to search within.
Long wanderlust, infinite are twists and turns
only the chosen, sharp few do comprehend
I yearn to practice to differentiate
bless me to see real.
13.6.2020
Pick-A-Title, Vol 19 - 4 Sapphic Stanzas - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Title chosen: Simulacrum
At the tender age of twenty-three
Carl took his leave of family
He'd put his stock in friends, he said
One year later, happily wed
Life was easy, an ocean breeze
His siblings, Carl loved to tease
Mocking their holiday get-togethers
He toasted his friends in Vegas weather
The years passed, memories faded
Carl and his wife fully persuaded
They'd done the right thing, sans regrets
Although no children did they beget
But Carl took ill, then his wife left him
Life took a U-turn... painful... grim...
Distant memories of a caring home
Awakened Carl's nostalgia zone
So despite himself, Carl picked up the phone
~ Family long gone, address unknown
Petals In The Wind
As the chrysalis splits open and squeezes out the butterfly
Its wings wet and wrinkled until they have the time to dry
As the bud bursts in the first warm sun of spring
Opens up its petal and accepts the bee without a ring.
As the blossoms open one by one to bloom and grow
Petals opening wide revealing all they have to show
Waiting their turn until it’s then their time to fall
As all in turn wither, and cover the ground as a shawl.
The petals slowly wither and dry as sure as the bee
Did his pollinating job so well and so beautifully
The petal dries no longer needed, its job now done
It leaves the branch floats on the breeze, catches the last ray of sun.
As it floats with each gasp that Mother Nature blows
It twists and turns flirting with life wherever it goes
Till its trapped and it falls back to the ground in decay
Feeding back its mother earth, nutrients for another fine day.
© 22/01/2013 ~GG~
Contest Entry: Petals In The Wind
My hair is a whimsical canvas my crown
It’s so versatile pinned up or flowing down
An expression of my natural creativity
Hair is a blessing of my femininity
Sometimes I let the pillow style it
Go with the flow wearing my wild wit
In this way my hair is a cocoa cloud
All soft and fluffy unruly truly proud
Sometimes the rain puffs it up
I don’t complain I just embrace love
If I wear a natural Afro style
Or twists with bliss will make me smile
I can never go wrong with braids
Long or short the patterns make waves
Take it down and enjoy it anew
Crinkled and wrinkled my hair is the truth
Even if I have had bad hair days
Can cut it short or even shave
Hair is an expression when I’m feeling chatty
Fine like vine thick like brick stringy or nappy
In mind's eye I reminisce, watching children play
of a spring day sitting here, seeing my children play
blessed to see their smiles, when they hit, slid or fell
A happy day begin playing ball, in this story I will tell
A kiss and hug I get, dad please take us to the fair
Seeing the rides, ooh's, awe's echo from our pair
Eating fried dough, peanuts, "Boy! see the games over there"
We're playing with family and friends, as they make a dare
Can't miss any ride that twists, mixes, spins or flys in the air
There's so much to see, ride and play with, in a day at the fair
Hearing "thanks mom and dad" that night, walking to the car
"Stay awake" they say as we move, you know they can't get far
This day all started with thoughts of fun, smiles and laughs
both asleep, with their dreams, today, mom and dad can laugh
PD:
Any poem you posted during this month of* APRIL ~except ~ No! No! Bunny poems, or Easter poems..NOR other contest entries.
entered by Tom Larrow
I am at that crossroad again
Lord I've chosen wrong -
Strengthen me
Lift me up
Dry these tears like only you can
Inside something feels so torn
You see beyond the veneer
You see the core
The twists and turns
That only you can unravel
This vessel is leaking
It's broken in broken places
Touch my core, touch my spirit
The fleeting moments
Where I feel like giving up
Where I feel this is the end
Sweep me up in your embrace
Make me feel whole again
At times when everything falls apart
Do it not because I ask
But
Because you know exactly
What I need
©280820140932
Written: September 8, 2026, for a contest Sponsored by: Natasha L Scragg
*************
I sip the syllables—salt, sweet, sharp—
tongue tasting the tremor of thought.
Ink breathes like incense,
smoke of meaning rising,
curling in the ear’s cathedral.
Eyes catch flicker—
letters leap, luminous,
a lantern’s lash across the dark.
The page becomes pulse,
a drumbeat of desire,
narrative arc arcing like lightning.
Fiction’s force is fierce—
it grips, it twists, it binds—
a locust-swarm of images
buzzing behind the brain.
Multimedia murmurs,
screens scream,
colors collide,
sound swells,
and the mind is malleable clay.
Yet vulnerability hums—
we bend, we break,
we follow the flame.
Charm of the speaker,
timber of tone,
gesture, glance,
the body’s music—
all sculpt belief.
Still, creativity carves resistance:
word as weapon,
verse as veil,
voice as vessel.
The poem presses palm to palm,
warmth in the hand,
whisper in the ear,
rose-red scent of memory,
taste of rain on lips.
And in that moment—
reader and writer entwined—
the world is remade
by rhythm, rhyme,
and the raw ache of being heard.