Long Urge Poems
Long Urge Poems. Below are the most popular long Urge by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Urge poems by poem length and keyword.
Prize the path right where truth moves light,
Reach for a touch of inner peace;
Observe the flight when love moves sight,
Feel joy in nudge of gentle ease;
Oblige the truth when love hurls form,
Urge zeal to fund true zest that thrills;
Nurture calm proof in tact and norm,
Deed anchors pun when wit syncs will.
Move with the times in swirls of change,
Yield then true heart to journey quest;
See how each chime flings rhyme and range,
Touch shapes each start to charm and fest;
Intuit bold dance as music floats,
Choice flavours chance in mystic boat.
Leon Enriquez
31 August 2016
Singapore
MY HEART
Since long seed of emotion sown ,
sprouted in deep core of my heart.
Shaky slender stem sadly shown,
hard root of strong urge to insert.
Heart was pierced in pricking pain.
Plant of love in shy ambient.
Ardent ardour to sigh in vain.
I had left you being silent.
Heart quake on shock of betrayal.
Cool calm clean pristine heart of mine.
Dragging damaged heart in dismal.
Appearing weeping fault line.
Reminiscences haunting me
throughout my life every moment.
My passionate love wants to flee,
leaving fragile heart to lament.
‘Sincerity claims focusing concentration not allowing dilution’ - Poet
SINCERE
Dear sweetheart, sweet pie,
Never think to bid bye !
My passion to pierce and tingle !
You are the unique Moon! Single:
mesmerising
and surprising
Prominent
eminent
in sparkling starry sky.
Won’t care for evening stars,
coming in life and passing by.
Not for ‘his’ or ‘her’ but for ‘Ours.’
Me loyal and loud, never shy .
Romance rippling in pearly bubble.
Heart beats dance, prance: Rhythm double.
Ideal couple we will turn.
Environ shiny, not auburn.
We : Entwined in joy or trouble.
Emotive urge surging in amorous flow
My only Moon glistening in glorious glow.
Make sure, we are always made for each other,
walking on beach, clams of love to gather.
Romance of love will never die !
You are my sweetheart ! My sweet pie !
Taste that still voice in silence deep,
Release old strains of hurts laid bare;
Apt solemn poise in death's dream sleep,
Notice odd gains in buried flair;
Quest now embalmed in earth's moist cave,
Urge grace to show a secret tell;
In sorrow's psalm the martyred brave,
Love thus must know lost grandeur's spell.
Hope awaits thus the touch of grace,
Observe the wind that swirls sad chime;
Light hollows dust upon this face,
Yes love unseen accords changed mime.
Sense surreal space in mystery,
Attest to choice beyond glimpse plain;
Touch beyond place time blooming free,
Upon fixed poise loss seems in vain;
Raise up again wise love not lost,
Descend not end that glimpse of flight;
Ask joy not slain to transcend cause,
Yonder uptrend of brilliant light.
Leon Enriquez
31 March 2018
Singapore
A glass within a glass;
in that glass, I seek.
A life within a life;
in that life, I find an unknown movie.
Passing distant echoes,
chasing unforgettable letters and pauses,
finding comfort in the words,
searching for meaning in a glass within.
There is a transparent figure;
I confront myself with an unsatisfied appetite.
There is a wholesome attitude;
I return to myself, and then someone is finally abandoned.
I used to curse my glass for a long time.
I used to urge myself to be forgotten.
I shaped myself into something vast:
a life within a body that strides into the unknown.
I contradicted my reflection with a mouthful of pretty lies.
The light reflects like dice in the glass in my mind.
For so long, I have been trying to chase an unknown dream:
from where I stand to where I am destined.
She started a screenplay but it got insanely boring,
So she flipped to a clean page and began a novel.
By page two she could not bear it. It was not making sense.
I will write a poem, she thought.
Poems came easily. They were shorter. They did not bore her.
The punchlines were fast and clever. She wrote twelve poems.
This satisfied her urge more than a bit. She kept writing poetry.
A poetess now, self-imposed.
She hid them away for years. They were hers, not to be shared.
Let me see one, a friend begged. And begged. And begged.
She relented, and almost no comments were made.
An occasional “hmmmmm” which was not satisfying at all.
She did not show her poems again for a long long time.
The people who professed to love her the most were the most critical
When she did. They began to write poems too. They bragged about theirs
Which were so much better than hers.
Anyway that is what she thought.
She was totally wrong.
Died with a plethora of poems that were insanely good
Not knowing this at all.
They were burned in a bonfire by her nieces and nephews.
Many who could not read, and some who did not read
Even though they could have if they had wanted to
Which is more the pity.
Outline clear draft with points laid plain,
Lift lovely lines with sensuous glow;
Design sure craft for clever gain.
Choice creates fine works that show,
Reach for a field where fragrance thrills;
Align the heart with subtle tones,
Frame a clear yield that humours will;
Touch with deep art to heal and hone,
Yes do the dance with fond delight.
Calm fits the feel of feelings strange,
Rise to the chance of strange insight;
Abide that still arc of wise range,
Forge a new surge of affluence here,
Trust frees the urge as content cheers.
Leon Enriquez
24 September 2015
Singapore
Once, a strange structure appeared in a barn yard
difficult not to notice, a scaffold to hang horses
for throwing their masters
Dumb and never protesting they were led up the ramp
built like a stairway to heaven
With never any last minute salvation
No 'Pegasus' wings that sprouted from the withers.
Hooves crossed on the chest each was duly blest
and I wonder if each mistook the noose
for a lasso around its neck.
With one somb're bell a'ringing the hangman pulled the lever
'There are no last minute requests for horses being executed'
Justice done again?
Yet it seems in the equine world
hanging has served as no deterrant.
Inherant in all horses is an urge to
throw their masters.
Give Me Your Best James Tate
Contest Judged: 12/1/2016 12:00:00 AM
Sponsored by: Space Cadet
6th Place
100 in a ROW contest -- 8
Contest Judged: 7/30/2016 8:24:00 PM
Sponsored by: Poet Destroyer A
6th Place
A chipmunk fell under my spell today.
I am magnificent, so of course, it was not totally unexpected,
plus chipmunks have always been attracted to me.
She immediately recognized me as a mystical, magical, Komodo dragon,
and she wanted to tell her relatives, for she liked being the first with the news.
You know the type.
I could have none of that, being the only Komodo dragon left, in generations
of magical, mystical dragons. If she told, I might disappear forever, and then who would save the planet? So I brought her to my dragon lair, and we had a bit of a chat.
Her name was Miss Fancy, and she was all of that; eating her sandwiches with her pinkie up. She had never tasted peanut butter banana sandwiches before, and let me know how great they are.
Komodos do not eat that kind of food, being strictly carnivores, but I resisted every urge to eat her, and it worked. Miss Fancy promised she would not tell anyone about my mystical, magical side, which she and only she had seen, so I released her back into her meadow with her friends.
Almost as soon as she was released she began travelling door to door, and I suspected she was not merely delivering May baskets. I turned invisible to listen, and was astounded at how many people laughed at her for thinking there was a real Komodo dragon. None believed, and she was the laughing
stock of Chipmunk Village.
I cannot tell you the relief I felt for I had grown fond of her, and did not relish torching her with my mighty flames, for a chipmunk is not much of a bite anyway.
Loves Event Horizons (Choka)
Wind that fills your sails.
Sea of madness causing swell.
What is in you that propels.
That surges beneath.
Urge of invisible reach.
Marionettes under string.
We, the puppet pawns.
Those who stand with faces drawn.
Pathetic, prophetic, long.
Beseiged, all along.
Heart-gate cogs, drawn open, maw.
Waiting, spinning our heart-wheels
For that shining feel.
To take upon us it's steel.
Take us under whirlpools draw.
Thief, sage, shortest straw.
Open unto us, seventh seal.
Port cull us, then stare in awe.
At needs' muscle beach.
Greed's lusty salt of the sea.
Jason and Jill's Odyssey.
We, Sirening deep.
Eyes like searchlights beaconing.
Tide-holds-never-weakening.
07/09/2019
Jude Fernando Herrick
( MrFernando )
Image #2